CRYDER 


OF  CAT.TF.   LTBPMTY.  LOS  AHGELES 


Books  by  George  C.  Shedd 

CRYDER 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

THE  INCORRIGIBLE  DUKANE 

THE  INVISIBLE  ENEMY 

THE  IRON  FURROW 

THE  ISLE  OF  STRIFE 

THE  LADY  OF  MYSTERY  HOUSE 

THE  PRINCESS  OF  FORGE 


CRYDER 


BY 
GEORGE  C.  SHEDD 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT    OF    TRANSLATION 
INTO    FOREIGN    LANGUAGES,    INCLUDING   THE    SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  IV  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 

First  Edition 


CONTENTS 
PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     EARTH'S  IRONY i 

II.     DOCTOR  CRYDER 36 

III.  IN  THE  FOREST 69 

IV.  THE  EGOTIST 102 

V.    WILD  BEES       129 

PART  II 

I.    THE  CELEBRATION 171 

II.     ENMITY 215 

III.  BROUGHT  Low 228 

IV.  RISING  WIND 267 

V.    THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN 291 

VI.    THE  HOLOCAUST 341 

VII.    THE  ECHO 377 


213275G 


PART   I 


CRYDER 

CHAPTER  I 
EARTH'S  IRONY 


THE  somnolent  midday  calm  enthralling  the  millyard 
was  split  by  an  abrupt  roar  from  the  mill  siren,  the  one 
o'clock  whistle.  The  noon  hour  was  over. 

Almost  at  once  from  across  the  river  the  mountain 
pitched  back  the  sound  in  a  magnificent  echo;  and 
Frances  HufF,  embroidering  a  waist  by  a  window  in  the 
small  office  building,  instantly  stayed  her  needle.  That 
brusque  and  thunderous  response  from  the  height 
opposite  never  failed  to  cause  her  head  to  lift  and  her 
eyes  to  glow.  It  was  the  finest  echo  she  had  ever 
heard,  scornful,  impressive,  almighty — like  a  shout 
from  a  vast  throat,  like  a  roar  from  Olympus. 

Not  another  soul  about  the  mill,  of  course,  would  be 
guilty  of  entertaining  such  an  extravagant  fancy.  All 
the  others  were  men.  And  men,  she  was  discovering, 
were  creatures  of  literal  mind,  in  whose  skulls  hard 
facts  alone  appeared  to  find  lodgment.  For  example, 
take  Mr.  Williams,  the  cashier. 

Mr.  Williams  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ab- 


2  CRYDER 

sently  pressing  with  end  of  forefinger  the  dottle  in  his 
pipe,  pondering  some  matter.  He  was  a  man  past 
middle-age,  of  thin  figure,  with  a  longish  face  and  pale 
blue  eyes,  whose  demeanour  even  when  indulging  in 
pleasantries  was  one  of  gravity.  As  a  youngster  he 
must  have  been  decorous;  and  as  a  youth,  sedate.  He 
affected  a  mild  cynicism  in  respect  to  business  ethics 
and  religion  and  politics,  and  an  indifference  for  the 
feminine  sex,  which  last  Frances  did  not  take  seriously — 
not  since  one  noon  when  through  the  doorway  leading 
into  his  private  office  she  chanced  to  behold  him  dousing 
his  head  with  a  pinkish  aromatic  hair  tonic  and  meticu- 
lously rubbing  his  thin  wet  locks.  That  gave  poor  Mr. 
Williams  away! 

"You're  captivated  by  the  echo,  I  see,"  she  remarked, 
to  open  up. 

"Echo — echo?"  murmured  he,  vaguely.  "Ah,  from 
the  mountain.  It  is  rather  loud.  The  broad  expanse 
of  rock  surface  intensifies  the  vibrations  like  a  sound- 
ing-board." 

Dry  as  a  bone.     Exactly  what  she  expected. 

"I  had  in  mind  its  inspiring  quality,  Mr.  Williams," 
said  she.  "You  certainly  must  feel  that." 

"Can't  say  that  I  do." 

"Then  you've  never  thought  of  the  echo  as  a  tre- 
mendous retort  from  the  mountain?" 

"A  retort!" 

"Just  that." 

He  began  to  smile.  In  an  impersonal  way  Williams 
admired  Frances  Huff.  She  was  slender,  quick,  fresh- 
skinned,  with  brown  hair  full  of  russet  shimmers,  frank 


EARTH'S  IRONY  3 

brown  eyes,  and  mobile  features  that  suggested  sen- 
sitiveness of  feeling.  Her  lips,  nose,  and  round  smooth 
brow  had  a  fine  modelling  which  particularly  pleased 
him.  He  had  found  her  mind  lively  and  her  good  hu- 
mour constant;  and  these  qualities,  together  with  her 
ingenuousness,  provoked  in  him  a  spirit  of  banter. 

With  great  deliberation  he  queried,  "Why  is  the  echo 
a  tremendous  retort?  That  implies  resentment.  Do 
you  imagine  that  the  mountain  feels  annoyance  at  our 
excellent  steam  siren?" 

"Of  course.     Along  with  irritation  at  other  things.'* 

" Oh,  there's  more  then.  Well,  well,  this  grows  serious. 
Irritation  at  what  else,  pray?" 

"At  our  egotism,  for  one  thing." 

"Dear  me,  is  it  that  bad?" 

"It  is,"  she  affirmed.  "Now  suppose  you  had  been 
sitting  there  in  peace  for  millions  of  years,  when  all  at 
once  appeared  a  swarm  of  mites  near  by,  stirring  a  dust 
and  tooting  a  whistle  and  assuming  that  the  universe 
survived  by  their  activity,  why,  wouldn't  you  be  in- 
censed and  let  out  a  bellow  of  wrath  ?  Certainly  you 
would.  Just  get  yourself  in  a  poetic  frame  of  mind  and 
you'll  share  the  mountain's  feeling." 

"I  can't,  alas,  quite  spiral  into  it." 

"But  at  times  you  have  a  little  of  the  air  of  one  en- 
gaged in  fancy." 

Mr.  Williams's  smile  grew  perfunctory.  "Oh,  yes,'* 
he  responded.  "I  brood.  But  that's  over  how  best 
to  dodge  my  bills.  Unfortunately  a  sawmill  isn't 
exactly  the  environment  to  stimulate  poetic  thought; 
at  least  I've  never  heard  of  a  poet  bursting  his  senti- 


4  CRYDER 

mental  cocoon  in  the  lee  of  a  lumber  pile.  Not  in  our 
yard,  anyway.  Of  course  Mr.  Wagner  wouldn't  permit 
it  in  any  case,  but,  aside  from  that,  I  venture  to  assert  a 
sawmill  lacks  proper  inspirational  values,  as  it  were. 
Doves  and  fountains  by  moonlight  and  melancholy 
ladies  and  the  like.  Our  stuff  is  too  raw,  nothing  but 
logs  and  sawdust,  machinery  and  tobacco-chewing 
workmen.  Now,  for  instance,  what  would  a  poet  make 
of  that  racket  in  the  mill?" 

Work  in  the  plant  had  begun  as  they  talked.  First 
from  the  sawdust  blower  issued  suspirations  like  the 
troubled  sighs  of  some  great  beast;  and  then  from  the 
river  bank  came  a  grinding  rumble  as  the  log-hoist 
started  upward  with  its  procession  of  dripping  logs;  and 
finally  from  the  mill  itself  there  swelled  forth  a  confused 
din,  a  strident  cacophony,  a  furious  contention  of  sounds 
rising  from  the  roar  of  wheels,  the  squeal  of  planers, 
and  the  snarl  and  howl  and  screech  of  saws. 

Frances  admitted  to  herself  that  there  was  assuredly 
nothing  poetic  in  that  infernal  noise.  Nor,  for  that 
matter,  was  there  in  the  entire  plant.  Not  a  speck  of 
poetry  existed  in  all  the  fenced  area  of  ground,  nothing 
to  kindle  the  mind  or  to  enrich  the  spirit:  nothing  in  the 
mill  with  its  clamour,  nothing  in  the  yard  stacked  high 
with  lumber,  nothing  in  the  air  cloyed  with  an  odour  of 
raw  wood  and  of  burning  sawdust,  no,  not  even  in  the 
purpose  which  steadfastly  drove  saws  and  men.  The 
business  was  baldly  commonplace,  grimly  practical, 
deadly  real.  Materialism,  harsh  and  stark,  reigned 
supreme  within  the  high  board  fence  enclosing  the 
plant. 


EARTH'S  IRONY  5 

And  this  was  not  all.  This  same  hard  materialism, 
it  seemed,  now  dominated  all  business,  all  desires,  all 
life.  It  was  drying  up  the  springs  of  noble  sentiment 
at  which  humanity  had  drunk  and  kept  its  spirit  fresh. 
In  it  was  no  place  for  nor  recognition  of  the  aspirations 
of  the  soul. 

Frances  was  suffering  a  recoil  from  new  and  dis- 
illusionizing knowledge.  Until  a  month  previous  her 
ideas  and  her  ideals  had  been  untouched.  During 
childhood  she  dwelt  in  a  New  Hampshire  village  amid 
simple  natures  and  under  kindly  influences.  Then  she 
had  attended  a  small  co-educational  college  where  an 
atmosphere  of  idealism  prevailed,  after  graduation 
from  which  she  had  accepted  a  place  as  secretary  with 
a  scholarly  old  gentleman,  a  distant  kinsman  of  her 
mother's,  who  was  State  Librarian  and  with  whom,  too, 
she  lived.  Her  parents  were  dead;  her  only  close 
relation  was  her  brother  Jack.  For  six  years  she  re- 
mained in  this  somewhat  cloistral  position,  losing  it, 
however,  when  her  employer  resigned  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  political  appointee. 

Her  brother  was  in  the  Northwest,  where  he  had  gone 
a  year  before  to  engage  in  the  lumber  business;  and 
Jack  on  learning  that  she  was  out  of  occupation  urged 
her  to  visit  him,  to  rest  and  spend  the  summer  in  a 
vacation.  The  suggestion  caught  her  fancy.  So  she 
had  packed  and  set  out  for  Maronville,  in  the  State  of 
Washington,  where  he  was  working  in  a  sawmill — 
where,  lo!  she,  too,  now  was  "holding  down  a  job." 

During  the  two  weeks  she  had  been  here  in  the  office 
of  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  her  eyes  had  been 


6  CRYDER 

opened  to  the  reality  of  things.  The  hardness  of  men 
appalled  her;  the  selfish  brutality  of  business  sometimes 
sickened  her;  while  present-day  greed  and  cynicism  in 
general  caused  her  to  despair.  Was  the  world  breaking 
down,  was  the  earth  once  more  to  be  given  over  to 
human  wolves  and  wild  hogs? 

On  her  journey  westward  Frances  had  seen  from  her 
Pullman  window,  the  first  night,  a  vast  steel  manu- 
factory with  stacks  aflare  and  furnaces  gushing  blood- 
red  light  where  workmen  toiled.  That  glimpsed  scene, 
that  chiaroscuro  of  sooty  gloom  and  crimson  refulgence 
containing  half-nude  labouring  human  figures,  pro- 
foundly affected  her  soul.  In  it  was  an  element  of  the 
heroic.  Brain  and  brawn  were  united  in  a  prodigy 
of  effort  to  supply  society.  Industry  as  the  collective 
energy  of  mankind  directed  at  production  and  devoted 
to  service  for  fellow-men  seemed  altogether  magnificent 
and  ennobling. 

But  now,  alas!  she  saw  its  spirit  was  not  that,  but 
simply  a  sordid  and  soulless  fury  of  money-making. 
The  fierce  moil  in  plant  and  in  factory  was  only  the 
clatter  of  machines  racing  in  competition  for  markets. 
The  only  spirit  in  industry  was  a  mercenary  spirit; 
the  sole  motive  behind  production  was  gain.  Wages, 
nothing  more,  concerned  workmen,  while  profits  alone 
interested  owners.  Here  in  this  mill,  to  go  no  farther, 
not  a  man  cared  for  anything  else;  and  as  her  thought 
ranged  forth  embracing  the  land  she  grew  apprehensive. 
For  this  sawmill  was  but  one  of  hundreds  owned  by 
the  great  corporation  which  operated  it;  the  corporation 
was  but  a  single  unit  in  the  vast  business  of  manufactur- 


EARTH'S  IRONY  7 

ing  lumber;  and  lumber  was  but  a  single  article  in  the 
tremendous  field  of  industry,  merely  one  along  with 
metal  and  coal  and  oil  and  cotton  and  grain  and  beef 
and  all  the  rest  that  kept  the  huge  array  of  machinery 
roaring  from  east  to  west  across  the  continent. 

To  Frances  the  prospect  was  ominous.  Mankind 
seemed  sinking  under  a  sprawling,  ruthless  monster  of 
steel  and  flame  whose  breath  withered  hearts  and 
deadened  souls. 

ii 

"By  the  way,  you  may  be  interested  to  know  the 
first  of  the  new  logs  came  into  the  boom  this  morning," 
Mr.  Williams  said  presently. 

"Truly?"  she  answered.  "I  know  how  anxious  Mr. 
Forsythe  has  been  over  the  slow  progress  of  the  drives. 
I  presume  they'll  arrive  eventually." 

"Oh,  yes.  They'll  come  along.  But  when  the 
water  is  as  low  as  it  is  this  season  it's  a  job  to  keep  them 
on  the  move.  Up  at  Tupper's  Bend,  for  instance,  where 
the  first  drive's  coming  through  just  now,  the  river  is 
full  of  teeth.  White  water  the  whole  channel  there, 
four  miles  of  it.  Regular  log-trap." 

"It  must  be  dangerous  for  the  men." 

"Somewhat.  We  expect  accidents  and  one  or  two 
men  drowned  during  the  log  drives,  just  as  we  figure  on 
a  certain  loss  in  logs.  They're  inevitable." 

A  sudden  thought  smote  Frances.  "Tupper's 
Bend!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  that's  where  Jack  is!" 

"I  know.  But  you  can  rest  easy  in  your  mind  about 
him.  He's  a  boss;  he'll  be  in  no  danger.  It's  the 


8  CRYDER 

river-hogs  who  run  the  risk,  not  the  foremen — not 
often,  at  any  rate.  And  the  men  know  the  risks  and 
generally  take  care  of  themselves."  He  paused,  with 
his  eyes  turning  to  the  entrance,  and  said,  "Well,  of 
all  things,  see  who's  here!" 

A  stocky  youth  had  sauntered  in,  wearing  a  brand- 
new  straw  hat  cocked  over  one  eye.  His  hair  above  the 
ears  was  newly  clipped  all  around  and  upward  for  a 
space  of  two  inches,  revealing  an  incongruous  band  of 
white  scalp  between  the  tanned  skin  below  and  the  mat 
of  black  hair  above.  His  bright  yellow  shoes  were 
snub-toed;  his  belted  trousers  were  of  a  vivid  blue 
serge.  A  silk  shirt  patterned  in  awning  stripes  of 
purple,  saffron,  and  green,  open  at  the  neck,  collarless, 
and  with  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow,  completed  the 
chromatic  crash. 

"All  you  need  now  to  set  the  world  afire,  Nichols,  is  a 
pint  of  hooch  under  your  belt,"  the  cashier  stated. 

The  visitor  winked.  "I'll  get  that.  Some  class  to 
me,  eh?" 

"Well,  rather!     When's  the  wedding?" 

"What  wedding?  I'm  no  goat  for  a  wedding.  You 
get  me  wrong,  commeesar.  I'm  after  my  time." 

"Oh-h-h,  I  see!  Quitting.  Tired  of  driving  grub 
wagon  to  the  drivers'  camps.  That  explains  the  jazz 
clothes." 

"Yeah,  I'm  all  fat-tigued." 

Williams  smiled  wearily.  "You  Kettle  Creekers  all 
get  that  way,  able  to  work  so  long  and  no  longer. 
About  a  month.  Then  good-night!  The  hookworm 
gets  in  its  deadly  effect." 


EARTH'S  IRONY  9 

"Yeah." 

"Fortunately  we  know  you  chaps,  and  expect  you  to 
stop  when  it  will  inconvenience  us  most." 

"Yeah.  Then  you  ain't  disappointed  none.  Say, 
what  you  belly-aching  about?  Didn't  I  get  a  man  to 
drive  wagon  in  my  place?  Next  time  I'll  let  you  rustle 
your  own  horse-chauffeur." 

"Good,"  said  Williams.  "Now  give  me  your  time- 
slip."  He  received  it  and  entered  the  wire  cage  at  one 
side  of  the  room,  where  as  he  wrote  a  check  he 
continued,  "You're  a  real  scream  to-day,  boy.  Driv- 
ing truck  with  the  army  in  France  certainly  rubbed  the 
moss  and  bark  off  our  shy  Kettle  Creek  laddie  and  left 
him  a  high  polish." 

"You  said  something  when  you  spilled  them  words," 
was  the  answer. 

"A  dream,  that's  what  you  are,  Nicky — a  circus 
poster,  an  aurora  borealis.  If  those  gay  little  Maries 
and  Fifis  could  see  you  now,  my,  wouldn't  they  roll 
their  eyes  and  cry  'oh-oh-oh!" 

"I'll  say  they  would." 

"I'll  say  they  would,  too — and  rush  to  smother  you  in 
their  adoring  arms." 

"Rave  on,  grandfather,  rave  on,"  Nichols  responded, 
calmly.  "It's  only  the  wind  in  the  chimbly  you  hear, 
not  the  dead  wagon  at  the  gate.  Not  yet.  Not  till 
I  tap  you  once  behind  the  ear." 

This  exchange  of  amenities  ended  at  the  entry  of  a 
grimy,  loose-jointed  workman  in  bibbed  overalls,  wear- 
ing a  black  cap  pulled  tight  on  his  head.  His  cheeks 
were  sunken,  his  lips  filmed  with  tobacco,  his  eyes  hard 


io  CRYDER 

and  bright.  As  his  look  roved  round  it  lighted  on 
Frances,  at  whom  he  smiled  evilly  and  tossed  a  "Hello, 
sweetie."  Then  he  turned  his  gaze  on  Nichols,  regard- 
ing him  in  mock  admiration  with  hands  upraised. 

"Regular  little  dearie  in  them  clothes,"  he  simpered. 
"Such  a  pretty  boy.  Ought  to  be  in  the  movies." 

"Huh.  Fired  again,  Joe,"  said  Nichols.  "See 
you're  carrying  a  piece  of  paper  from  the  timekeeper." 

"Fired.  Sure."  He  approached  the  cashier's  wicket 
and  thrust  in  his  slip.  "Here,  you,  gimme  my  time  and 
be  quick  about  it  or  I'll  knock  your  block  off." 

"Done  with  honest  toil,  Streeter?" 

"What's  it  to  you?  You  white-collared  loafers  make 
me  sick.  Push  a  pen  awhile  and  manicure  your  lily 
hands  the  rest  of  the  time,  while  we  real  workers  have 
to  slave.  Well,  you  just  wait!  What  happened  in 
Russia  is  goin'  to  happen  here  before  long,  you  can  bet 
your  sweet  life,  and  then  you'll  get  yours." 

"You  flatter  me  by  including  me  in  the  capitalistic 
class,"  said  Williams.  He  wrote  the  man's  check  and 
tossed  it  out  to  him.  "Here's  yours,  too, Nick.  Don't 
get  drunk  and  ruin  that  beautiful  sunset  on  your  back." 

"Give  him  a  poke,"  Streeter  advised  the  youth.  And 
then,  "When  you  goin'  up  to  Kettle  Creek?" 

"To-morrow,  Joe." 

"What's  the  rush?     Stick  around  awhile." 

"Can't.  Got  a  job  driving  Doc's  car  and  he  wants 
me  quick-quick." 

"Well,  his  car  won't  need  no  headlights  if  you  wear 
that  shirt."  He  ceased  speaking,  with  his  gaze  rivetted 
on  a  man  outside  advancing  toward  the  door.  "Let's 


EARTH'S  IRONY  n 

beat  it,  buddy;  I  don't  associate  with  this  gent  comin' 
in  the  door.  Not  with  Mister  Wagner."  He  raised 
his  voice  so  the  man  might  hear.  "I've  been  in  jail, 
but  I'm  pertic'ler,  I  am,  what  kind  of  jail  guys  I  keep 
company  with.  I  don't  mix  with  no  low-down  prison 
skunk  like  this  feller.  Not  me." 

The  two  Kettle  Creekers  went  out,  brushing  past  the 
assistant  manager  of  the  mill  as  he  entered. 

By  his  countenance  Wagner  might  have  been  deaf 
to  Streeter's  vituperative  utterance.  A  corpulent  man 
with  bronzed  fleshy  face  covered  by  a  short  reddish 
beard  turning  gray,  his  nose  thick  and  blunt,  his  gray 
eyes  glinting  under  bushy  brows,  he  crossed  the  floor 
with  a  solid,  deliberate  tread.  His  trouser  legs  were 
stuffed  in  laced  boots.  His  blue  flannel  shirt  was  un- 
fastened at  the  neck,  revealing  a  growth  of  coppery 
hair  in  the  hollow  of  his  throat.  He  wore  no  coat. 
His  vest  was  unbuttoned,  from  an  upper  pocket  of 
which  projected  a  notebook  and  several  lead  pencils. 
Over  his  eyes  his  peaked  Stetson  hat  was  drawn  firmly. 

"Williams,"  said  he,  "call  the  railroad  agent  about 
our  cars." 

He  waited  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  gazing  over 
Frances's  head  out  of  a  window  at  the  river. 

More  than  any  other  here  did  this  man  interest  Fran- 
ces HufF.  Wagner  had  a  history.  Fifteen  years  pre- 
vious, when  the  Roosevelt  Administration  proceeded  to 
purge  the  corruption  in  the  Land  Department,  at  that 
time  of  rampant  timber  frauds  in  the  Northwest,  Wag- 
ner had  been  taken  in  the  catch  of  malefactors.  Of 
those  involved  in  the  toils  of  the  law  a  few  had  been  men 


12  CRYDER 

of  high  position — financiers,  a  Congressman  or  two, 
even  one  United  States  Senator;  but  the  greater 
number,  of  course,  were  small  fry  and  these  a  host — 
local  timber  dealers,  surveyors,  minor  land  officials, 
department  inspectors,  fraudulent  entrymen,  and  dum- 
mies of  various  kinds. 

Wagner  had  been  instrumental  in  securing  false 
affidavits  of  proof  on  timber  claims  for  the  company  by 
which  he  was  employed.  Previously  he  had  been 
active  in  bringing  "settlers"  from  Michigan,  Wisconsin, 
and  elsewhere  in  the  interest  of  the  various  lumber  con- 
cerns in  Idaho  or  Oregon  or  Washington  for  whom  he 
worked,  arranging  deals  with  these  people,  the  terms 
of  future  sale  of  their  claims  to  the  companies,  the  ad- 
vance of  expense  money  and  their  filings  and  settlement. 
For  a  brief  period,  indeed,  his  services  had  been  utilized 
by  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company,  when  he  placed 
claimants  on  Kettle  Creek,  though  with  the  failure  of 
this  transaction  to  materialize  he  had  nothing  to  do. 
His  criminal  prosecution  grew  out  of  another  circum- 
stance, out  of  the  filing  of  the  false  affidavits.  A  hard 
legal  battle  was  made  to  save  him  by  parties  interested, 
but  the  millstones  of  the  law  were  for  the  time  grinding 
sure  and  fine.  He  was  convicted,  sentenced.  And  for 
three  years  he  disappeared  behind  the  gray  walls  of  a 
penitentiary. 

Frances  had  the  story  from  her  brother  Jack.  But 
no  stigma,  it  seemed,  clung  to  the  man  because  of  his 
prison  record.  To  her  amazement  public  opinion 
treated  the  penal  servitude  of  those  convicted  of  illegal 
acts  in  that  lax  period  of  misappropriation  and  graft  as 


EARTH'S  IRONY  13 

a  matter  of  bad  luck  rather  than  as  a  just  retribution  for 
criminal  malfeasance.  It  struck  her  as  most  extraor- 
dinary. 

On  his  discharge  from  prison  the  man  had  obtained 
employment  in  a  sawmill  of  the  great  Heidenstreit 
corporation.  Then,  working  now  in  one  of  its  mills  and 
now  in  another,  advancing  slowly  but  steadily,  he  had 
at  last  been  sent  to  the  Hedley  plant  at  Maronville  as 
assistant  manager,  where  twenty  years  earlier  he  had 
made  headquarters  while  colonizing  Kettle  Creek. 
Wagner  knew  all  about  timber,  its  cruising,  scaling, 
and  logging,  and  all  about  lumber,  its  sawing  and 
seasoning,  its  sorting  and  grading,  pricing  and  shipping, 
and  his  mind  was  an  infallible  register  of  the  yard 
supply,  of  the  day-by-day  stocks,  the  varying  market 
quotations,  and  the  freight  rates  and  shipping  routes. 
In  the  company's  interest  he  was  indefatigable,  first  at 
the  mill  in  the  morning  and  at  night  the  last  to  depart. 

He  dressed  simply  and  lived  plainly.  He  had  no 
intimates.  He  rarely  smiled.  He  read  only  a  Spokane 
newspaper  and  lumber  journals.  He  had  never  married, 
and  in  fact  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  other  sex,  as 
if  in  his  existence  women  were  as  alien  and  as  extraneous 
as  powder-pufFs.  Lumber  alone  appeared  to  engage 
his  mind  and  his  energies.  Fixed  in  this  stolidity  of 
life,  he  seemed  impervious  to  the  emotions  which  moved 
those  about  him  and,  in  truth,  almost  superior  to  the 
force  of  events. 

All  this  invested  the  man  in  Frances's  eyes  with  a 
character  grimly  fascinating.  She  wondered  what 
passed  in  his  secret  mind,  in  his  soul.  He  had  been 


i4  CRYDER 

(and  might  yet  be,  who  knew?)  a  figure  moving  in  a 
sombre  drama. 

At  the  wall  telephone  Williams  had  secured  his  con- 
nection and  made  inquiry  of  the  railway  agent  as  in- 
structed. His  face  came  round  toward  Wagner. 

"He  states  that  the  cars  should  be  here  any  time 
now,"  said  he. 

"Any  time  won't  do,"  was  the  answer.  "I  want 
fifty  cars  in  the  yard  by  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing without  fail." 

Williams  passed  this  word  along  and  listened. 
Presently  he  reported,  "He'll  do  the  best  he  can,  he 
says,  but  can't  promise.  If  the  empties  arrive  that  he's 
expecting — 

"Here,  let  me  talk  to  him,"  Wagner  cut  in.  He 
strode  forward  and  took  the  receiver.  "That  you, 
Calvert?  This  is  Wagner  speaking.  Listen  sharp.  I 
want  fifty  cars — get  that?  .  .  .  Don't  tell  me  you 
haven't  them;  I  saw  plenty  down  there  this  morn- 
ing. .  .  .  Can't  help  it  if  they  are  for  farmers;  let 
the  farmers  wait.  .  .  .  No,  send  the  cars  here 
.  .  .  .  Send  them  here,  I  say.  .  .  .  Their 
hay  doesn't  have  to  go  out  now,  nor  their  other  stuff. 
What  if  they  do  roar  their  heads  off?  .  .  .  Fifty 
cars  by  seven  o'clock.  .  .  .  By  seven  o'clock,  I  said, 
or  I'll  have  a  man  put  in  your  place  who  will  look  after 
our  interests.  .  .  .  What's  that!  Say  that  again! 
.  .  .  Oh,  you'll  have  the  cars  here;  I  thought 
you  said  something  else.  .  .  .  Farmers!  Don't 
keep  talking  farmers  to  me.  Who  gives  your  road 
freight,  anyway?  Send  those  cars  up  here  as  I  tell 


EARTH'S  IRONY  15 

you.  .  .  .  Watermelons — watermelons!  To  hell 
with  their  watermelons !  Let  'em  rot !  .  .  .  That's 
better;  now  you're  talking.  .  .  .  See  that  you 
do.  .  .  .  By  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. .  .  .  Fifty,  yes.  On  Track  Two." 

Replacing  the  telephone  receiver  on  its  hook  Wagner 
went  out  of  the  building.  Through  the  doorway 
Frances  watched  him  move  away  to  enter  one  of  the 
streets  canyoned  in  the  stacked  lumber.  And  all  at 
once  there  obtruded  upon  her  consciousness  the  shrill 
and  vicious  clamour  of  the  saws.  The  man  Wagner,  too, 
was  a  product  of  realism.  He  was  one  with  the  saws, 
a  part  of  the  machine,  purposeful,  ruthless,  cutting 
straight  to  his  end  without  compunction.  So  much  the 
worse  for  whatever  or  whoever  got  in  the  way. 

To  hell  with  watermelons ! 

in 

"Where  is  Kettle  Creek,  Mr.  Williams?"  Frances 
questioned,  after  a  time. 

"Up  the  river  about  fifty  miles.  It  flows  south 
through  a  very  fine  pocket  of  timber  and  then  into  the 
Furness.  A  quarter  of  a  billion  feet  of  lumber  in  that 
bit  of  forest — and  we  can't  get  it.  Between  the  Kettle 
Creekers  and  our  company  there's  a  quarrel  which  runs 
back  to  the  time  they  settled  here  and  so  they  ask 
preposterous  prices  for  their  claims.  I  don't  know  how 
many  people  live  on  Kettle  Creek;  two  or  three  hundred 
in  all,  fifty  or  sixty  families.  You  saw  two  specimens  in 
here  in  that  I.  W.  W.  scoundrel,  Joe  Streeter,  and  young 
Nichols,  who's  going  home  to  drive  Doc  Cryder's  car." 


16  CRYDER 

"Is  this  Doctor  Cryder  one  of  them?" 

"Well,  yes  and  no.  He's  not  one  of  the  original 
crowd  of  settlers  but  a  later  acquisition,  and  at  that  he 
doesn't  stay  there  all  the  year  around,  going  away 
winters.  While  he  conducts  a  general  medical  practice 
throughout  the  region,  he's  really  a  surgeon — a  very 
able  one,  indeed.  Doctor  Martin,  our  leading  physician 
here,  says  he  does  big  operative  cases  when  in  the  East, 
where  all  the  leading  hospital  men  know  him.  Lectures 
there  a  lot,  I  believe.  Writes  for  the  medical  journals, 
too." 

"Why  in  the  wrorld,  if  that's  so,  does  he  live  at 
Kettle  Creek,  of  all  places?"  Frances  exclaimed. 

"Because  he's  the  kind  of  man  who  would,  you  see. 
He's  a  queer  one,  Doc.  Something  of  a  hermit  and  con- 
siderable of  a  bear.  Rough.  Big  as  an  ox.  Likes  to 
bluster.  First  time  I  laid  eyes  on  the  fellow  I  mistook 
him  for  a  lumber-jack.  It  was  up  at  a  log-driving  camp 
and  he  was  playing  poker  with  a  bunch  of  river-hogs." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"Oh,  there  isn't  much  to  relate.  I  had  gone  up  to 
check  some  camp  accounts  and  arrived  in  the  evening. 
The  men  were  loafing  around.  On  one  place  five 
fellows  had  a  game  going  on  a  blanket  and,  as  it  turned 
out,  Cryder  was  one  of  them.  He  had  come  to  fix  a 
chap  with  a  mashed  foot  and  when  done  had  jumped 
into  the  poker  play.  He  knows  everybody,  log-drivers 
along  with  the  rest.  Well,  there  he  was  sitting  cross- 
legged  with  a  fistful  of  cards,  laughing  and  slanging  like 
the  toughest  of  them  till  he  went  away.  The  language 
was  lurid,  for  Doc  was  cleaning  the  gang  of  cash." 


EARTH'S  IRONY  17 

"Yet  he's  a  good  surgeon,  you  say." 

"That's  the  extraordinary  thing  about  the  man. 
Martin  says  he's  a  wonder  when  engaged  in  a  difficult 
operation.  Grafts  arteries,  puts  in  glands,  removes 
diseased  parts  of  the  brain,  and  all  that.  Up  there  in 
the  woods  he  has  a  kind  of  hospital  of  his  own,  I  under- 
stand, a  big  log  structure  and  several  cottages,  where 
he  also  does  operations.  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he 
used  Kettle  Creek  patients  for  vivisection  purposes, 
having  no  supply  of  dogs  and  guinea  pigs.  I  don't  put 
it  past  Doc.  He  bullies  the  people  there  until  they're 
afraid  to  peep,  and  if  he  took  the  notion  to  cut  one  of 
them  open  to  watch  the  wheels  go  round  he  would  do 
that  very  thing.  No  one  would  know.  For  that 
matter,  no  one  would  care  much.  The  market  quo- 
tation on  Kettle  Creekers  is  low.  Ho,  hum!  Now  I 
must  get  to  work  on  my  books."  And  with  that  he 
went  slowly  into  his  private  room. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  Frances  had  no  work 
herself,  having  cleaned  up  the  letters  and  reports  given 
her  the  day  before  by  Mr.  Forsythe,  the  manager,  before 
he  set  out  on  a  round  of  the  camps  up  the  river.  So  she 
had  brought  out  the  georgette  waist  from  the  drawer 
where  she  kept  it  for  avail  at  leisure  moments. 

When  Frances  came  to  Maronville  she  had  not 
expected  to  work.  She  intended  to  visit  Jack,  nothing 
more.  But  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  lack  of  occupation 
began  to  pall;  she  had  had  enough  of  sleeping  late,  of 
reading  and  lying  in  a  hammock  and  gazing  at  the 
mountains  in  the  east.  She  had  digested  Maronville, 
which  though  it  had  five  thousand  people  and  was  a 


18  CRYDER 

county  seat;  had  a  main  paved  business  street  and 
cluster  lights  and  blocks  of  plate-glass  fronts;  had  a  new 
court  house  and  a  Carnegie  library  building;  had  resi- 
dential streets  lined  with  bungalows  and  villas;  had 
industries;  had  below  town  an  irrigated  valley  and 
plain  country  where  grew  the  finest  potatoes  and  the 
finest  apples  and  the  finest  prunes  and  the  finest  alfalfa 
and  the  finest  melons  in  the  world;  had  a  Chamber  of 
Commerce  and  was  going  to  have  a  Country  Club;  had 
a  Future — especially  a  Future — nevertheless  failed  to 
hold  Frances's  interest. 

Therefore,  when  the  stenographer  at  the  sawmill  quit 
her  place  to  marry  a  mechanic  in  a  garage,  Frances 
determined  to  ask  for  the  position.  Jack  protested  that 
that  would  be  no  vacation,  but  finally  gave  in  and  that 
same  evening  called  Mr.  Forsythe  by  telephone  to  tell 
him  of  her  desire.  Next  morning  she  went  with  Jack  to 
the  sawmill,  where  she  quickly  convinced  Mr.  Forsythe 
of  her  ability  to  fill  the  place.  He  was  a  bulky,  smiling 
man  of  fifty-five,  with  keen  black  eyes  and  an  aggressive 
chin,  whose  hair  and  moustache  were  turning  gray. 
She  liked  his  appearance,  both  his  face  and  his  well- 
tailored  clothes.  And  he  seemed  pleased  to  have  her, 
a  trained  and  efficient  assistant,  as  he  expressed  it,  and 
spoke  of  his  friendship  for  Jack,  whom  he  considered  a 
rising  man.  Concluding,  he  said  he  had  a  lot  of  un- 
dictated  correspondence  on  his  desk  at  this  very 
minute.  When  could  she  begin?  Now?  Fine.  Her 
desk  was  that  in  the  outer  office. 

Frances  was  particularly  happy  that  the  manager 
had  taken  an  interest  in  her  brother.  Jack  had  been 


EARTH'S  IRONY  19 

at  the  Forsythe  house  more  than  once  to  dinner  or  to 
play  auction  and  he  was  always  praising  Mr.  Forsythe's 
ability  and  Mrs.  Forsythe's  beauty  and  wit.  But 
Frances  had  not  yet  met  the  manager's  wife,  as  she  had 
been  absent  for  more  than  a  month  and  had  returned 
only  three  days  before. 

This  afternoon  Frances  was,  as  it  turned  out,  to  make 
her  acquaintance.  About  four  o'clock  a  blue  sedan 
stopped  before  the  office  building.  From  it  a  woman 
garbed  and  shod  in  white  and  wearing  a  panama  hat 
bound  about  by  a  blue  veil  sprang  out  and  entered  the 
door.  Frances  divined  who  she  was,  hastily  pushed  the 
waist  into  a  drawer  and  rose,  a  little  flushed  but  smiling. 
If  she  could  have  had  but  a  minute  before  the  looking- 
glass! 

Mrs.  Forsythe  tripped  forward  extending  her  hand. 

"Jack's  sister,  surely,"  she  said  in  greeting.  "I  see 
the  likeness  between  the  two  of  you.  And,  of  course,  I 
knew  you  were  here  now.  I'm  Mrs.  Forsythe.  Ever 
since  I  came  back  to  town  I've  been  wanting  to  meet 
you,  Miss  Huff,  and  as  my  husband's  gallivanting  after 
logs  and  I'm  alone  I  decided  to  come  to-day  and  kidnap 
you.  Take  you  home  with  me  to  dinner  to-night." 

"Dinner!     Look  at  me — this  dress — 

"  Pooh.  No  one  but  ourselves,  my  dear,  and  besides, 
you  look  wonderfully  fresh.  Anyway,  it's  too  hot  to 
think  of  clothes.  Blistering!  And  the  dust  on  the 
road  here  from  town!  I  think  I'll  pick  this  window  to 
sit  by  where  the  breeze  comes  in  from  the  river." 

The  speaker  showed  no  evidence  of  heat  or  dust. 
Very  likely  she  had  kept  the  car  windows  closed. 


20  CRYDER 

Frances  suspected  that  however  much  Mrs.  Forsythe 
might  deprecate  the  importance  of  looks  she  would  be 
certain  of  her  own  smart  appearance.  She  was  fas- 
tidiously finished  from  pink  finger-nails  to  arranged 
eyebrows,  perfectly  appointed  from  crown  to  sole, 
exquisite,  charming.  She  looked  no  older  than  Frances 
but  the  latter  knew  she  must  be.  Years  never  showed 
themselves  in  that  blonde  type.  Under  the  brim  of 
her  panama  hat  her  hair  shone  like  old  gold;  her  figure 
was  youthful,  full  of  grace;  her  skin  was  delicate 
and  white;  pink  was  in  her  cheeks;  her  teeth  were 
even  and  pearly,  her  features  fine  and  her  violet  eyes 
beautiful.  Yes,  she  was  lovely,  Frances  decided,  a  little 
too  "finished"  perhaps,  but  nevertheless  lovely. 

The  Forsythes  had  lived  in  Maronville  not  yet  a  year. 
From  the  management  of  a  lumber  plant  elsewhere 
Forsythe  had  been  transferred  to  the  Hedley  mill  the 
previous  autumn;  and  during  the  time  since  his  wife 
had  been  much  away  on  visits  to  Seattle,  Los  Angeles, 
and  Chicago.  Frances  fancied  she  would  be  a  woman 
who  should  find  it  difficult  to  be  satisfied  in  a  city  as 
small  as  Maronville,  for  she  had  the  air  of  larger  places. 

They  chatted  for  a  time.  Then  Mrs.  Forsythe  gazed 
toward  the  cashier's  door. 

"Mr.  Williams,  aren't  you  coming  out  to  speak  to 
me?"  she  cried.  "You've  hid  long  enough.  And  bring 
your  glass,  please;  I'm  dying  for  a  drink  of  ice  water." 

Williams  appeared  with  the  glass,  filled  it  at  the  tank, 
and  deferentially  presented  it  to  the  visitor. 

"I  feared  I  might  intrude,"  said  he.  "For  all  I  knew 
you  were  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  fashions." 


EARTH'S  IRONY  21 

Mrs.  Forsythe  shook  her  head. 

"No,  that  wasn't  your  reason,"  she  accused. 
"Doubtless  you  were  scheming  how  to  keep  out  of  the 
clutches  of  Miss  Stone,  whom,  I  understand,  you've 
treated  with  extreme  cruelty."  She  turned  to  Frances. 
"When  I  went  away,  Mr.  Williams  was  devoted  to  the 
lady  lawyer  here,  but  on  my  return  I  was  horrified  to 
learn  he  had  thrown  her  over  for  a  new,  visiting  girl. 
The  most  heartless  thing  I  ever  heard!  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  Miss  Stone  appeared  here  some  day 
bringing  a  minister  and  a  sheriff"  and  ordering  him  to 
choose  between  matrimony  and  jail." 

"Is  there  a  difference?"  was  the  bland  inquiry. 

"Well,  that  depends." 

"You  have  the  facts  of  my  sad  affair  altogether 
wrong,"  Mr.  Williams  remarked.  "It  was  the  other 
way  round.  I'm  the  one  who's  in  the  discard,  and 
just  because  of  a  little  joke  I  perpetrated  which  brought 
her  into  collision  with  Doc  Cryder." 

Frances  saw  Mrs.  Forsythe  stiffen. 

"Cryder!" 

"Yes." 

"And  what  was  the  joke?"  she  asked,  slowly. 

"Well,  it  was  this  way.  Miss  Stone  is  something  of 
a  reformer,  strong  for  the  'uplift'  and  all  that,  and 
lately  she's  been  circulating  a  petition  to  be  presented 
to  the  Governor.  It  asks  the  enactment  of  a  law  at  the 
next  session  of  the  legislature  which  shall  prohibit  the 
sale  and  use  of  tobacco.  Liquor  has  gone,  and " 

"Gone  up  in  price  she  means,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  inter- 
jected. 


22  CRYDER 

"And  tobacco  must  go  next,  she  asserts.  I  signed 
the  petition;  it's  easier  to  sign  than  to  argue,  and  the 
Governor  will  pigeon-hole  it,  of  course.  In  jest  I  told 
her  to  secure  Cryder's  signature,  as  he  was  well  known 
up  the  river  and  here,  too.  I  thought  she  knew  Doc  and 
his  peculiarities,  but  she  didn't;  she  hasn't  lived  in 
Maronville  so  long,  remember.  One  day  last  week 
when  Doc  was  in  town  she  met  him  on  the  street  and 
braced  him  for  his  name.  It  was  before  Paley's  meat 
market.  Doc  read  the  petition,  it  appears,  and  refused 
to  sign,  and  then  Miss  Stone  endeavoured  to  convert 
him.  If  you  knew  Doc,  you'd  guess  the  result.  The 
argument  grew  warm.  A  crowd  gathered.  It  swelled 
to  a  public  debate.  The  subject  of  tobacco  was 
dragged  all  around  the  world,  I'm  told,  and  through 
homes  and  churches  and  dens  of  vice  and  hospitals  and 
human  stomachs  and  books  of  statistics,  until  Miss 
Stone  waxed  wroth." 

The  narrator's  eyes  twinkled. 

"She  informed  Doc  that  he  was  a  disgrace  to  his 
profession,"  Williams  continued.  "She  said  he  was 
a  supporter  of  wide-open  license  and  commercialized 
iniquity.  She  declared  he  favoured  the  vicious  indul- 
gence of  unnatural  appetites  and  the  degradation  of 
the  youth  of  the  land.  She  minced  no  words;  she  was 
quite  red-faced  and  frank.  As  for  Doc,  he  steadfastly 
argued  that  all  the  rabid  reformers  could  be  classified 
under  one  or  another  of  the  four  heads — dyspeptics, 
neurasthenics,  hysterics,  or  hypocrites;  and  all  should 
be  dealt  with  medically.  Most  of  them  were  morons, 
he  announced.  The  trouble  was,  he  said,  that  the 


EARTH'S  IRONY  23 

country  was  full  of  morons  to-day,  male  and  female,  but 
especially  female.  In  the  end  Miss  Stone  lost  her 
temper  completely,  called  him  a  quack  and  went  off  in  a 
rage.  That  night  I  caught  the  deuce  from  her." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  meditated.  Finally  she  addressed 
Frances,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"This  Doc  Cryder  removed  my  appendix." 

"Did  he?"  Frances  did  not  know  what  more  to  say. 

"The  odd  part  is  that  I  didn't  see  him." 

"Why,  how  could  that  be?" 

"Oh,  I  was  under  ether.  The  operation  occurred 
shortly  after  I  came  here  and  Doctor  Martin  advised 
my  having  the  man,  as  my  case  was  acute.  Before  I 
saw  anything  of  this  doctor  I  had  been  given  the 
anesthetic  and  when  I  revived  he  had  gone.  It's  all  one 
whom  surgeons  cut  up,  I  suppose.  But  a  queer  thing 
happened,  a  nurse  told  me.  When  this  Cryder  walked 
into  the  operating  room  with  his  gown  and  rubber 
gloves  on,  he  said,  'All  ready?  Who's  the  case?' 
Then  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  face  as  the  mask  was 
lifted  for  an  instant  and  cried  out,  'My  God — Peg!" 

"He  thought  he  knew  you?"  Frances  exclaimed. 

"Seems  so.  Well,  he  didn't  say  anything  more, 
but  began  operating  very  skillfully  and  rapidly,  I  was 
given  to  understand.  In  seven  minutes  he  was  done 
and  gone.  Naturally  my  curiosity  was  aroused  about 
the  man.  I  must  have  a  look  at  his  face  sometime. 
There's  the  telephone  ringing,  Williams." 

By  a  gesture  the  cashier  checked  Frances  who  was 
reaching  for  the  desk  instrument  and  went  to  the  wall 
telephone,  where  he  set  the  receiver  against  his  ear. 


24  CRYDER 

"Hedley  Lumber  Company,  yes,"  said  he.  "Very 
well,  proceed." 

IV 

Casting  a  look  about  the  room,  Mrs.  Forsythe  lifted 
her  gauntlets  from  the  desk  and  proposed  to  Frances 
that  they  make  a  start.  At  the  same  moment  Mr. 
Williams's  voice  rang  forth  in  consternation. 

"What's  that?"  he  cried.  "An  accident?  .  .  . 
I  can't  hear  you;  speak  louder.  Confound  these 
country  wires!" 

Mrs.  Forsythe's  eyebrows  rose,  remained  in  interro- 
gation for  a  few  seconds,  then  fell,  while  a  resigned  sigh 
issued  from  her  lips. 

"In  the  lumber  business  something  is  always  happen- 
ing," said  she.  "Men  mangled  or  knocked  dead.  A 
pity,  too.  However,  we  mustn't  allow  these  un- 
pleasant occurrences  to  distress  us  or  harrow  our 
feelings,  as  Jim  says  they're  inevitable.  Besides,  if  we 
did,  my  dear,  we'd  have  no  looks  left  whatever." 

All  at  once  Williams,  who  had  sunk  into  an  attitude 
of  patient  suffering,  became  animated. 

"Berger,  Berger?  Well,  I  have  you  at  last.  Now 
go  on  with  your  message.  You  were  saying.  .  .  . 
Man  drowned?  Oh,  dear  me!  .  .  .  For  heaven's 
sake,  Central,  keep  this  Berger  line  clear  so  I  can  talk!" 

Tilting  his  head  he  gazed  mournfully  at  the  two 
women  and  murmured,  "Awful  service,  awful!", 
whereupon  Mrs.  Forsythe  stealthily  winked  at  Frances. 

"If  that  were  Jim,"  she  whispered,  "you  would  hear 
some  real  talk.  Williams  couldn't  scare  'central'  into 


EARTH'S  IRONY  25 

doing  anything  if  his  life  depended  on  it.  No  pep  or 
nerve.  Little  wonder  he  has  never  married." 

The  delay  continued.  The  cashier  drummed  with 
fingers  on  the  telephone  case,  got  out  a  lead  pencil  and 
pocketed  it  again,  felt  his  collar,  sniffed  angrily.  But 
at  last  he  began  to  speak. 

"Berger?  I  say,  Berger,  is  this  you?  Yes,  Hedley 
Lumber  Company.  Now  go  on;  I'm  listening.  You 
were  stating  that  a  man  had  been  drowned.  .  .  . 
What!  .  .  .  Oh,  my!  .  .  .  Not  one,  but  four? 
Heavens,  that's  dreadful!  A  real  disaster!  ...  In 
the  river,  yes.  .  .  .  Tupper's  Bend,  yes.  .  .  . 
Submerged  rock,  boat  smashed,  men  pitched  out,  yes, 
yes.  .  .  ." 

Again  Mrs.  Forsythe's  brows  were  elevated.  The 
accident  was  one  of  gravity,  after  all. 

"Jack's  at  Tupper's  Bend,"  Frances  said,  beginning 
to  tremble. 

"Fiddle-dee-dee.  Your  brother  wouldn't  be  in  it. 
Only  loggers  drown." 

The  speaker  glanced  at  Williams,  and  observing  in  his 
fixed  listening  no  immediate  prospect  of  further  news 
opened  her  purse  and  inspected  her  face  in  its  small  en- 
cased mirror. 

"Oh,  oh,  this  is  terrible!"  the  cashier  burst  out. 
"You're  sure  of  your  information,  you're  quite  sure  you 
have  the  facts  right?  .  .  .  Dreadful  thing, 
yes.  .  .  .  Six  in  the  boat  and  only  two  saved.  .  . 
What!  Repeat  that.  .  .  .  Oh,  oh!  .  .  .  Jack 
Huff,  oh,  Lord!  .  .  ." 

With  a  stifled  cry  Frances  came  to  her  feet.     She 


26  CRYDER 

grasped  the  edge  of  the  desk,  holding  it  tight,  sick, 
horrified,  with  her  heart  turning  to  ice.  But  next  in- 
stant she  heard  the  cashier's  voice  anew,  still  agitated 
but  exultant. 

"Not  drowned  ?  One  of  the  two  men  saved  ?  Good, 
good.  Very  good,  indeed."  He  twisted  his  head  about 
to  give  Frances  an  assuring  nod.  Then  he  resumed, 
"But  his  leg  is  broken,  eh?  Well,  that's  a  whole  lot 
better  than  being  drowned.  Legs  can  be  fixed.  .  .  . 
You  say  three  of  the  men  gone  were  loggers?  .  .  . 
Yes,  yes.  And  the  fourth  ?  Go  on,  I'm  waiting.  .  .  . 
What!  No,  no!  .  .  .  Oh,  my  God!  No — no! 
Not  him!  You  must  be  mistaken,  you  can't  have  the 
name  right.  ...  I  can't  believe  it!  .  .  .  Oh, 
lord,  this  is  awful— awful!  .  .  .  Yes,  go  on. 
Seeking  the  bodies.  .  .  .  Searching  down  stream, 
yes.  .  .  .  Keep  me  informed,  yes.  Very  well. 
.  Very  well.  Yes,  terrible." 

Slowly  he  returned  the  receiver  to  the  hook.  Then 
he  stood  for  a  time  with  his  look  fastened  on  the  instru- 
ment. The  lines  in  his  face  had  suddenly  grown  deeper, 
and  when  presently  he  walked  from  the  spot  the  women 
saw  that  he  was  pale. 

"Jack  was  saved?  Only  his  leg  hurt?"  Frances 
asked,  still  taut  with  dread. 

Williams  nodded.  She  let  go  her  grasp  of  the  desk 
and  dropped  into  her  seat,  putting  her  hands  over  her 
face. 

"I  feel  thankful  with  all  my  soul,"  she  said,  with  a 
breaking  voice. 

The  cashier  cleared  his  throat. 


EARTH'S  IRONY  27 

"That  was  the  operator  at  Berger  speaking,"  he 
explained  with  visible  effort.  "One  of  the  men  from 
camp  had  just  got  there  with  the  news.  A  terrible 
disaster  it  was,  the  worst  that  ever  happened  on  the 
river.  Six  men  were  crossing  the  stream  in  a  bateau 
when  a  hidden  rock  ripped  out  its  bottom.  Occurred  in 
an  instant,  evidently.  Right  in  mid-stream  where  the 
current  is  swiftest.  And  that  girl  at  Berger  was  so 
rattled  she  could  hardly  tell  the  story  straight.  No 
wonder,  though.  I'm  badly  upset  myself — greatly 
affected." 

"Go  on,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  prompted. 

"I — well,  I'm  still  so  shocked  I  find  it  difficult  to  do 
so.  And  I  find  it  particularly  hard,  a  most  agonizing 
duty.  You  see — well ' 

"Don't 'well' so  much.     Tell  it." 

"Well,  when  the  boat  struck,  one  of  the  men  saved 
himself  by  springing  on  a  log  and  riding  it  down  to  a 
point.  Jack  Huff  was  pulled  out  by  a  man  at  work 
on  a  'centre'  who  saw  him  and  hooked  him  with  his 
peavey  as  he  came  along.  Jack's  leg  was  smashed, 
however.  The  other  four  were  lost." 

"All  of  them?"  Frances  cried,  huskily.  "All  four? 
Every  one  of  them?" 

"Every  one,"  he  affirmed,  sorrowfully.  "Men  can't 
live  in  rough  fast  water  like  that.  It  hammers  them  to 
death  on  the  bottom.  One  hasn't  a  chance,  not  a 
single  chance." 

"Death  could  be  worse,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  remarked. 

"But  the  terrible  feature  of  this — is — is — well, 
that " 


28  CRYDER 

"What  are  you  so  worked  up  about?     Tell  it." 

"I  am  trying  to  tell  it.  The  awful  thing  is  that  your 
husband  was — Mr.  Forsythe  is — 

"Jim!     What  of  my  husband?     Speak  out,  man." 

"He  was  in  the  boat,"  Williams  groaned. 

"The  wrecked  boat!"  With  a  slow  tense  move- 
ment Mrs.  Forsythe  rose  to  her  feet.  "What  you  are 
trying  to  tell  me  is  that  Jim  was  one  of  the  four  men 
drowned?"  she  said,  clenching  her  hands.  "Good 
God!" 

Mr.  Williams's  look  was  harried. 

"I  was  so  unnerved,  so  agitated,  that  I  felt  myself 
incapable  of  breaking  the  dreadful  news  to  you,"  he 
answered,  hastily.  "Really  I  was  overwhelmed — I — 
oh,  dear,  such  a  calamitous  blow!"  With  a  gesture  of 
despair  he  turned  from  her,  shaking  his  head.  "Some- 
thing must  be  done,  I  don't  know  what.  Let  me  think. 
It's  all  so  terrible.  I  believe  I  should — yes,  I  ought  to 
tell  Mr.  Wagner." 

He  started  across  the  floor,  stopped,  looked  back 
anxiously,  then  hurried  out,  dashing  into  a  run  toward 
one  of  the  streets  among  the  lumber  blocks. 

Frances  had  been  appalled  by  the  cashier's  dis- 
closure, by  the  news  of  Mr.  Forsythe's  death.  It  left 
her  stunned.  But  at  last,  with  tears  welling  up  in  her 
eyes,  she  rose  and  extended  her  arms  to  comfort  the 
stricken  wife,  murmuring  brokenly,  "Oh,  Mrs.  For- 
sythe, I  sorrow  with  you!  Let  me ''  Then 

she  checked  herself.  Mrs.  Forsythe's  features  were 
hard  set,  fixed  in  a  frozen  immobility,  pallid,  smooth,  and 
cold  like  ivory.  In  her  eyes  was  a  dull  stony  gleam  and 


EARTH'S  IRONY  29 

on  her  lips  rested  a  thin  sharp  smile.  Fine  lines  had 
emerged  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  a  pinched  ex- 
pression drew  her  nostrils  downward,  and  on  her  neck 
the  cords  stood  forth.  No  longer  did  she  appear  youth- 
ful and  charming,  but  old  and  inflexible.  As  she  stood 
there,  she  was  unconscious  of  her  companion  or  her 
surroundings.  She  heard  not  the  yelling  and  shrieking 
saws,  the  clamour  from  the  mill. 

Suddenly  a  chill  drove  into  Frances's  bosom  at  that 
gleam  of  eyes  and  that  frigid  smile.  She  read  the 
truth.  Under  tremendous  stress  of  feeling  this  woman 
was  exposing  her  heart,  her  secret  thought;  and  to 
Frances  it  was  as  if  her  look  had  chanced  to  fall  into  a 
dim  deep  pit  where  lay  coiled  something  loathsome  and 
sinister,  where  dwelt  a  vague  scaly  spirit  indistinctly 
beheld,  unguessed,  evil.  Without  intent  she  had  sur- 
prised the  hidden  thing  in  the  woman's  life.  No  sor- 
row, no  grief,  was  reflected  on  Mrs.  Forsythe's  white 
face.  Only  relief.  Was  that  not  it  unmistakably? 
Relief,  yes,  and  even  satisfaction,  as  at  an  unex- 
pected deliverance.  Frances  shut  her  eyes  tight. 
She  did  not  wish  to  know  more.  She  did  not  want 
to  glimpse  anew  what  was  passing  in  the  woman's 
soul. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  stirred,  expelled  a  long,  repressed 
breath,  and  turned  her  regard  on  Frances. 

"Some  other  time  I'll  take  you  home  with  me,  my 
dear,"  said  she.  "You  understand  my  feelings  at 
this  time,  of  course;  I  want  to  be  alone.  Jim  dead, 
the  tragedy,  everything!  Just  now  I'm  prostrated, 
body  and  mind,  utterly  overcome  by  the  shock.  I  must 


3o  CRYDER 

be  alone  with  my  grief.     Later,  when  I'm  a  little  recon- 
ciled to  my  loss,  you  may  come." 
She  went  out. 


When  Mrs.  Forsythe's  car  had  gone  Frances  sat  weep- 
ing softly. 

At  this  very  hour  yesterday  Mr.  Forsythe  in  his  room 
was  giving  her  dictation.  She  beheld  him  in  her  mind 
as  he  sat  at  his  desk  then,  ruddy-faced,  dominant,  a 
cigar  gripped  in  his  teeth,  diffusing  a  sense  of  physical 
strength  and  trenchant  mental  power,  composing  letter 
after  letter  with  an  easy  command  of  thought  and  a 
clearness,  compactness,  and  vigour  that  gave  to  each 
the  forceful  effect  of  a  blow.  Neither  of  them  dreamt 
what  the  morrow  had  in  store. 

And  now  he  was  gone.  The  fierce  and  insatiable 
river  had  snatched  him  along  with  others,  had  sucked 
him  down,  bandied  him,  whipped  him  over  its  merciless 
stones,  strangled  him,  quenched  the  light  in  his  brain 
and  beaten  the  life  from  his  body.  He  now  was  a  drift- 
ing thing  of  broken  bones  and  pulpy  flesh  somewhere 
under  the  water.  Frances  pressed  finger-tips  against 
her  eyes  to  dull  that  dreadful  picture.  If  she  could,  she 
would  also  have  sealed  her  ears  against  the  ominous 
murmur  of  the  river.  To  extinguish  her  very  thoughts 
was  her  craving,  for  her  mind  was  steeped  in  misery  and 
her  heart  was  sick. 

Mr.  Williams,  walking  fast,  came  into  the  room. 
She  opened  her  eyes  to  gaze  at  him,  listlessly  noting 
that  he  breathed  rapidly  from  his  exertion,  though  in 


EARTH'S  IRONY  31 

a  degree  he  had  regained  his  usual  businesslike  air. 
He  went  at  once  to  the  telephone,  where  he  put  in  a 
long-distance  call  for  the  office  of  the  Heidenstreit 
company  at  Spokane.  While  he  awaited  a  return  on 
this  he  again  called  Berger  and  plied  "central"  there 
with  questions,  alternating  his  queries  with  remarks  of 
"I  see,  I  see,"  or  "Yes,  I  understand.  Very  good." 

When  he  had  ended  his  conversation  Frances  tremu- 
lously asked,  "Did  you  learn  anything  more  of  Jack?" 

"No  more,"  said  he,  "except  that  the  telephone  girl 
got  in  touch  with  Doc  Cryder  and  he  has  started  for 
camp.  It's  a  good  piece  of  luck  she  caught  him  at 
home.  He  set  off  for  the  river  at  once  and  it  won't  be 
long  now  until  your  brother's  leg  has  attention.  Rest 
assured,  Miss  Huff,  everything  possible  will  be  done 
to  make  him  comfortable." 

He  made  a  thoughtful  turn  across  the  floor,  paused, 
produced  a  notebook  and  pencilled  a  notation.  Then 
his  look  falling  on  the  glass  Mrs.  Forsythe  had  left  on 
the  desk,  he  lifted  it  and  carefully  wiped  with  handker- 
chief the  wet  ring  on  the  wood  underneath.  Next  he 
cast  a  surprised  look  about  the  room. 

"Mrs.  Forsythe  has  gone,  I  perceive,"  he  said. 
"Ah,  poor  Mrs.  Forsythe!  What  a  sad,  sad  end  for 
her  husband!  So  lamentable.  I  couldn't  properly 
voice  my  sympathy  when  telling  her  what  hap- 
pened, so  stunned  and  distressed  was  I.  When  again 
I  see  her  I  shall  do  so.  Poor  woman,  poor  afflicted 
woman!" 

Inwardly  Frances  writhed.  As  she  listened  to  his 
plaint  an  intense  irritation  possessed  her  spirit;  she 


32  CRYDER 

wished  he  would  have  done  with  this  babbling,  for  the 
hour  was  too  tragic  for  inconsequential  words. 

To  her  relief  Wagner  came  walking  into  the  room. 

"Got  'em?"  he  addressed  the  cashier. 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Wagner.  However,  I  told  'central'  to 
use  all  expedition  in  securing  Spokane  for  us." 

The  assistant  manager  wheeled  about  to  regard 
Frances. 

"Your  brother  came  out  of  the  accident  alive,  I'm 
glad  to  hear,"  said  he. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Wagner,"  was  her  grateful  re- 
sponse. "It's  a  great  weight  off  my  heart  to  know  he's 
safe  even  if  injured;  I've  much  to  be  thankful  for.  But 
I  feel  like  weeping  when  I  think  of  the  fate  of  those  lost, 
of  Mr.  Forsythe  and  the  three  workmen." 

"These  things  happen,"  said  he. 

"Do  the  men  in  the  mill  and  in  the  yard  know  of  Mr. 
Forsythe's  death?  Will  you  shut  down  the  plant?" 

"Shut  down!"  For  once  Frances  beheld  the  man 
surprised  into  wonderment. 

"Why — why,  yes,"  she  faltered. 

"Shut  down  the  mill?"  he  went  on,  staring  at  her. 
"Why  that?" 

"I  thought — well,  out  of  respect  for  Mr.  Forsythe, 
you  see.  He  is  " — her  voice  ebbed  to  less  and  less  under 
his  unchanging  regard — "is  dead." 

Curiosity  now  marked  his  expression. 

"Lack  of  business  may  stop  a  mill,"  he  stated, 
after  a  considerable  pause.  "Sometimes  a  strike. 
Nothing  else  I  know  of."  The  telephone  burst  forth  in 
a  violent  ringing.  "See  if  that's  Spokane,  Tom." 


EARTH'S  IRONY  33 

Suddenly,  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow  on  her  brain, 
Frances  became  conscious  of  the  racket  proceeding  in 
the  mill  near  by,  of  the  harsh  and  blatant  vociferation 
of  saws  and  planes.  It  seemed  to  surcharge  the  air. 
Like  Wagner's  unfeeling  assertion,  this  outrageous 
caterwauling  agonized  her  spirit.  In  the  remorseless 
grind  of  industry,  in  the  continual  struggle  for  material, 
and  in  the  strife  for  gain,  for  what  did  human  beings 
count?  Nothing,  nothing  at  all.  Lives  were  con- 
sumed like  particles  of  sawdust  blown  into  the  roaring 
flame  of  the  mill  furnace.  Company  manager  or 
humble  river-hog,  the  death  of  either  made  not  the 
slightest  pause  in  the  steady  drive  of  belts  and  wheels, 
in  the  relentless  operation  of  the  Machine. 

Absorbed  in  these  bitter  thoughts,  she  failed  to  hear 
Wagner's  communication  at  the  telephone,  his  terse 
account  of  the  catastrophe,  and  his  request  for  orders 
from  the  Heidenstreit  office.  Only  as  he  ceased  and 
turned  away  did  she  again  rouse  herself  to  the  fact 
of  his  presence. 

"Archibald  makes  me  manager,"  said  he  to  the 
cashier. 

"Ah,"  came  from  the  latter's  lips. 

"Effective  at  once." 

Mr.  Williams  began  to  smile,  nodded  his  satisfaction, 
rubbing  his  hands  one  over  the  other,  and  cleared  his 
throat.  Frances  perceived  that  he  was  adjusting  him- 
self, as  it  were,  to  the  new  situation  and  preparing  to 
say  something. 

"Accept  my  heartiest  congratulations,  Mr.  Wagner," 
he  said,  blandly.  "You  deserve  the  promotion,  sir,  if 


34  CRYDER 

ever  one  did;  you're  entitled  to  the  place.  I — ah — had 
a  feeling  when  Mr.  Forsythe  was  sent  here  last  year 
that  you  should  have  been  made  manager  then.  Really 
did,  if  I  may  say  so  without  impropriety.  You  know 
the  mill,  the  yard,  the  stock,  the  timber  holdings,  the 
whole  business,  as  does  no  one  else.  Everyone  will  be 
delighted  on  learning  you're  the  new  head.  Personally, 
I'm  vastly  pleased  to  be  able  to  serve  under  you,  if 
you'll  permit  me  to  say  so." 

Wagner  gave  a  quick  nod. 

"All  right.  Now  notify  camp  Number  One  to  send 
down  the  bodies  when  found,"  said  he,  "and  have 
a  doctor  from  here  go  up  to  fix  young  HufF." 

"Doctor  Cryder  already  is  on  the  way." 

"Then  one  from  Maronville  won't  be  necessary. 
Another  thing,  Tom.  Prod  the  railroad  agent  again 
before  you  leave;  I  want  those  cars  at  seven  sharp." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Fifty  empties  set  on  Track  Two." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That's  all." 

"Yes,  sir." 

With  his  firm,  ponderous  step  the  new  manager 
crossed  the  room  and  left  the  building.  Mr.  Williams 
immediately  began  telephoning  the  railway  agent  as 
directed,  with  considerable  impatience,  a  little  import- 
antly, and  using  a  severe  tone.  When  done  he  vanished 
into  his  private  office. 

Once  more  Frances  became  occupied  with  thought 
of  the  afternoon's  tragic  happening  and  with  painful 
reflections.  Over  and  over  again  the  face  of  her  dead 


EARTH'S  IRONY  35 

employer  emerged  in  her  mind,  while  distressing 
visions  of  a  rushing  white  river  where  men  struggled 
constantly  recurred.  She  could  not  banish  them,  ob- 
literate them. 

The  minutes  glided  by. 

On  a  sudden  there  came  a  vigorous  blast  from  the 
sawmill  siren,  dying  at  the  end.  Five  o'clock.  Work 
was  done;  the  day  was  over. 

Unconsciously  the  girl  tensed  herself  to  wait,  co 
harken  for  the  mountain's  answer.  Silence.  Then 
the  amplified  echo  was  hurled  back  in  a  stupendous 
shout  from  the  height  across  the  river,  and  she  trembled. 
For  now  it  carried  a  cogency  not  to  be  ignored. 

A  shout  imperious  and  triumphant  it  was,  an  earth- 
utterance  comminatory  and  terrific  which  hooted  the 
spirit  in  men's  pursuits  and  scorned  the  pettiness  of 
their  passions  and  mocked  human  confusion  and  folly. 


CHAPTER  II 
DOCTOR  CRYDER 


ABOUT  eleven  o'clock  next  morning  Doctor  Cryder, 
who  had  lain  down  for  a  nap,  started  out  of  his  sleep 
with  a  flailing  of  arms  and  stertorous  gasps.  He  had 
wakened  with  a  choking  sensation.  When  he  had 
stretched  himself  out  on  the  bed  he  had  forgotten  to 
unbutton  his  shirt  at  the  throat,  and  evidently  during 
his  snooze  he  had  rolled  over  and  got  into  a  position 
where  his  collar  bound  his  windpipe. 

For  a  time  he  sat  as  he  had  heaved  himself  up, 
gazing  at  the  logs  of  the  wall  across  the  room,  but 
finally  he  swung  his  feet  down  on  the  floor.  He  stared 
at  his  dusty  hob-nailed  laced  boots  with  a  heavy- 
lidded  regard,  feeling  irritable,  yawned,  ran  a  hand 
through  his  hair,  and  licked  the  inside  of  his  mouth  to 
remove  the  disagreeable  taste  left  from  his  breakfast 
of  sausage  and  pancakes  and  syrup.  Whenever  he 
slept  after  breakfast  he  always  woke  up  with  a  bad 
taste,  never  fail. 

He  stood  up,  stretching  his  arms  and  groaning, 
"What  a  life,  what  a  hell  of  a  life!" 

Loosening  his  belt  he  began  to  draw  his  flannel  shirt 
up  over  his  head,  but  when  his  head  was  enveloped  the 

36 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  37 

shirt  stuck  on  his  shoulders.  Ineffectually  he  sought 
to  extricate  himself,  until  snarling  a  curse  he  gave  a 
terrific  yank  that  brought  it  off  and  hurled  it  at  the 
bed. 

"I'll  show  you!"  he  exploded. 

He  stalked  to  the  wash-bowl  and  turned  on  the  cold 
water.  When  the  bowl  was  full  he  thrust  in  his  face 
and  finally  his  head,  inundating  the  floor  at  his  feet,  and 
came  up  dripping,  blowing  water,  groping  for  a  towel. 
The  icy  immersion  dispelled  his  last  trace  of  torpidity. 
When  he  had  dried  his  head  and  forearms  and  donned 
his  shirt,  he  once  more  felt  fit. 

The  previous  night  he  had  had  no  sleep.  During 
the  afternoon  he  had  gone,  on  a  telephone  summons 
from  Berger,  to  the  log-drivers'  camp  at  Tupper's  Bend, 
where  he  picked  up  the  young  fellow  Huff  and  brought 
him  back  to  the  hospital.  He  had  set  the  chap's 
broken  leg,  a  compound  fracture,  and  placed  it  in  a  cast; 
bound  his  chest  with  adhesive  tape  as  he  appeared  to 
have  a  couple  of  cracked  ribs;  then  cleaned  the  wound  in 
his  scalp  made  by  a  jab  of  the  peavey  hook  during  his 
rescue,  painted  it  with  iodine  and  sewed  it  up.  That 
had  occupied  him  until  dark.  After  a  quick  supper  he 
went  to  visit  Mrs.  Beeler,  up  Kettle  Creek,  a  double 
pneumonia  case,  and  sinking.  After  that,  as  he  was 
undressing  for  bed,  there  came  a  call  from  the  Pemble- 
ton  ranch  thirty  miles  up  the  Furness  River,  where  on 
going  he  found  one  of  the  children  with  a  high  tempera- 
ture and  symptoms  of  spotted  fever.  Tick  bite.  Get- 
ting back  to  Kettle  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  he 
went  on  to  the  Beeler  cabin  again;  the  woman  was  dy- 


38  CRYDER 

ing;  he  administered  stimulants  but  failed  to  keep  her 
heart  beating  long,  as  at  about  six  o'clock  she  succumbed. 
So  by  the  time  he  reached  home  the  sun  was  over  the 
eastern  height,  shining  on  the  forest,  and  at  the  kitchen 
door  he  was  met  by  a  smell  of  pancakes  and  sausage. 
After  a  look  at  young  HufF  he  had  eaten  breakfast  and 
then  flung  himself  down  for  some  sleep. 

Cryder  clapped  on  his  hat  and  went  out  of  his  cabin, 
knotting  his  tie.  First  of  all,  he  must  find  a  nurse  for 
his  patient.  His  regular  nurse,  Miss  Brown,  had 
chosen  this  particular  time  to  go  ofFon  a  jaunt;  and  old 
Mrs.  Mercer,  his  housekeeper,  though  helping  in  a 
pinch,  must  have  her  rest.  He  himself,  of  course, 
couldn't  and  wouldn't  play  nurse  for  anybody.  Huh! 
Not  if  he  knew  it. 

Cryder  was  forty-one  years  old.  In  height  an  inch 
over  six  feet,  he  was  big  and  hard-muscled,  hard  as  a 
lumber-jack,  and  because  of  his  fullness  of  body  im- 
pressed observers  as  being  burly.  His  vitality  was 
tremendous.  He  could  go  long  on  little  sleep.  He  was 
never  too  played  out  to  make  any  length  of  drive,  day 
or  night,  at  a  call  for  his  services.  He  went  about  his 
business  with  a  rough  energy  singularly  in  contrast  with 
the  delicacy  he  manifested  in  diagnosis  and  in  operating. 
When  cases  were  few  he  tramped  the  hills  during  the 
daytime  and  at  night  read  or  studied.  Coarse  black 
hair  beginning  to  show  silver  crimps  covered  his  head; 
his  eyes  reposed  in  deep  bony  sockets  under  over- 
hanging brows;  his  nose  was  large  and  fleshy,  slightly 
aquiline,  stippled  with  enlarged  pores;  his  mouth  was 
large,  straight,  dogmatic,  with  the  under  lip  projected 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  39 

in  an  assertive  thrust;  and  his  chin  was  heavy  and 
notched.  Long  exposure  to  sun  had  given  his  naturally 
sombre  countenance  a  swart  and  saturnine  aspect. 

He  received  a  constant  stream  of  magazines  and 
books,  which  he  devoured,  then  tossed  aside.  His 
study,  a  room  in  the  west  end  of  the  hospital,  furnished 
with  a  long  table,  a  roller-top  desk,  a  stand  holding  a 
typewriter,  a  few  open  bookcases,  a  worn  Morris  chair, 
two  straight-backed  chairs,  and  Navajo  blankets  of 
black,  white,  and  vermilion  patterns  that  brightened 
the  big  rude  library,  had  stacks  of  books  lining  the  walls. 
His  intellectual  thirst  was  unslakable.  He  read  every- 
thing. The  research  and  new  developments  in  medi- 
cine and  in  surgery  he  followed  with  avid  interest.  He 
kept  abreast  of  the  advance  in  chemistry,  physics, 
astronomy,  and  the  other  natural  sciences.  He  delved 
in  works  on  sociology,  penology,  horticulture,  agrarian 
subjects,  politics,  labour,  capitalism,  commerce,  immi- 
gration, race  problems,  and  international  affairs.  He 
read  fiction,  history,  memoirs,  essays,  travels,  reviews, 
poetry.  Even  books  on  music  and  on  art  he  tackled, 
though  with  no  relish  and  little  understanding. 

Possessing  a  retentive  memory,  this  wide  reading 
gave  his  active  and  analytical  mind  an  unlimited  store 
of  information.  In  professional  practice  he  always 
had  the  latest  and  best  knowledge  at  his  finger-tips  and 
put  it  in  use.  On  all  subjects,  in  fact,  it  was  his  purpose 
to  be  prepared.  Loaded,  if  you  please.  If  any  man 
thought  to  show  him  up  as  ignorant  on  a  matter,  he 
was  welcome  to  try.  Naturally  opinionated,  he  loved 
argument — the  hotter,  the  better;  and  when  so  engaged 


40  CRYDER 

he  could  muster  an  array  of  authorities  and  hurl 
broadsides  of  facts  that  both  enraged  and  smothered 
adversaries. 

No  one  loved  Cryder,  not  even  the  folk  of  Kettle 
Creek  though  they  submitted  to  his  domination.  One 
submits  to  a  despot  when  there  is  nothing  else  to  do. 
One  can't  stand  against  a  man  with  a  short  temper, 
a  terrific  vocabulary,  and  a  Gargantuan  intellect.  He 
strode  round  the  settlement  with  a  hearty  and  pro- 
prietory  manner,  patronizing,  bullying,  entering  cabins 
without  knocking,  pouring  forth  unsolicited  advice, 
giving  counsel,  uttering  reprimands,  kicking  dogs  out 
of  his  way,  prying  into  children's  ears  and  noses  and 
into  their  parents'  quarrels,  ordering  men  to  get  to 
work,  bidding  women  gossip  less  and  wash  more,  mak- 
ing loans  to  the  needy,  commanding  the  storekeeper  to 
sweep  the  filth  ofF  his  floor,  interrupting  school  to 
examine  the  ventilation  or  to  interrogate  a  class — in  all, 
exercising  a  high-handed  direction  of  affairs  that  was 
evaded  when  possible  and  obeyed  when  not.  He 
proposed  to  make  something  worth  while  out  of  Kettle 
Creek,  said  he,  if  it  broke  his  back.  The  Lord  had  sent 
him  here  especially  to  perform  the  job,  to  lead  this  lazy 
and  stiff-necked  people  to  a  knowledge  of  the  value  of 
work  and  water. 

Cryder  had  arrived  at  Kettle  Creek  ten  years  before,  in 
the  course  of  a  fishing  trip  along  the  Bitter  Root  Moun- 
tains. An  epidemic  of  typhoid  at  the  time  gripped 
the  community,  with  no  doctor  nearer  than  Maron- 
ville;  wherefore  Cryder  had  employed!  his  medicine 
case  instead  of  his  fishing  tackle.  When  the  scourge 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  41 

had  been  finally  put  to  rout  the  summer  was  gone, 
and  the  surgeon  prepared  to  depart.  All  at  once,  un- 
expectedly and  for  no  apparent  reason,  he  changed 
his  mind,  adopting  the  little  wooded  valley  as  a  place  of 
residence.  On  the  crest  of  an  open  ridge  jutting  forth 
from  the  range  of  low  mountains  forming  a  wall  east  of 
the  creek  he  had  a  cabin  built  and  a  year  later  his  big 
log  hospital  containing  a  ward  of  eight  beds,  an  operat- 
ing room,  a  laboratory,  a  study,  and  a  kitchen,  with 
several  more  cabins  in  its  rear.  Here  he  dwelt  from 
April  until  November.  When  snow  began  to  fly  he 
closed  the  buildings  and  vanished  for  the  winter. 

As  he  now  walked  away  from  the  cabin  that  was  his 
sleeping  quarters,  pulling  at  the  knot  of  his  yellow 
and  blue  tie,  blinking  against  the  sharp  sunshine,  he 
perceived  Mrs.  Mercer,  his  housekeeper,  a  small,  bent 
old  woman,  step  from  the  hospital  entrance  bearing  a 
wash  basin.  She  started  toward  her  own  cabin,  but  on 
catching  sight  of  Cryder  she  waited  for  him  to  approach. 
A  gray  lock  had  escaped  its  hairpin,  giving  her  a  haggish 
aspect.  From  her  expression  the  surgeon  saw  that  she 
was  aggrieved  by  something  or  other. 

"He  said  I  got  soap  in  his  eyes  a-washin'  his  face  and 
I  never  teched  'em,"  she  at  once  complained  bitterly. 

Cryder  pursed  his  lips  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

"There,  there,  Mother!  Never  mind.  He's  prob- 
ably feeling  a  bit  sore  this  morning.  There  may  be  an 
impingement  on  his  crural  and  sciatic  nerves.  Run 
along  now.  You  need  not  bother  about  lunch  for  me 
to-day." 

"And  that  ain't  all,"  she  persisted.     "He  said  I  was 


42  CRYDER 

starvin'  him  to  a  shadder  because  I  gave  him  jest  oat- 
meal like  you  perscribed." 

"Oho!  It's  his  stomach  that  concerns  him,  eh? 
Well,  to-morrow  I  may  loosen  up  a  little  on  his  food,  as 
he's  pretty  husky.  Now  I'm  going  down  to  Kettle 
Creek  to  find  someone  who'll  act  as  nurse.  You  can 
sleep  in  the  ward  by  him  till  I  return." 

"Don't  you  bring  that  good-for-nothin'  sassy  May 
Johnson!" 

"What's  wrong  with  May?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember 
now.  You  haven't  a  great  yearning  for  her  company." 

"Yearnin5!  I  can't  bide  her  round  me  no  how. 
She's  too  impident  for  anything.  Girls  ain't  got  no 
manners  at  all  nowadays.  A  good  larruppin'  is  what 
she  needs,  that  May  Johnson,  even  if  she  is  growed  up." 

The  old  woman,  muttering  to  herself,  went  on  with 
the  basin  toward  her  cabin.  She  had  remained  all 
night  in  the  ward  with  young  Huff  and  had  had  only 
catnaps,  which  left  her  irritable. 

Cryder  proceeded  on  his  quest. 

II 

He  quit  the  ridge,  descending  by  a  path  before  the 
hospital  that  at  once  entered  the  forest,  cool,  odorous, 
carpeted  with  pine  needles,  which  in  its  depth  was 
as  dim  and  peaceful  as  a  cathedral.  A  greenish  dusk 
pierced  by  shafts  of  sunshine  lay  under  the  roof  of 
boughs  and  filled  the  arcades  formed  by  the  stately 
tree  trunks.  The  path  led  westward.  When  he  had 
advanced  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  passed  round  a  copse  of 
black  jack-pine  and  emerged  in  a  clearing  a  stone's 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  43 

throw  across,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood  a  dozen 
log  buildings  on  both  sides  of  a  hard-beaten  road  or 
street — one  a  store,  one  a  school-house,  and  the  rest 
cabins. 

This  was  Kettle.  It  took  its  name  from  Kettle  Creek, 
which  flowed  along  the  western  edge  of  the  clearing. 
Ten  miles  north  of  it  rose  the  snowy  peaks,  the  Three 
Sisters,  where  the  stream  had  its  source,  and  five  miles 
south  the  forest  ceased  and  the  creek  debouched  into 
the  valley  of  the  Furness  River.  East  and  west  it  was 
shut  in  by  ranges  of  low  mountains.  Seldom  visited  y 
almost  unknown,  buried  in  the  virgin  forest  that  filled 
the  vale  from  rim  to  rim,  the  hamlet,  nevertheless,  was 
the  nerve  centre  of  Kettle  Creek  community  life. 

As  Cryder  came  out  in  the  clearing  a  cow  grazing 
near  by  flung  up  its  head  to  stare  wildly  and  then 
circled  off"  the  length  of  its  tether.  A  man  working 
among  potato  vines  in  a  garden  patch  just  beyond 
straightened  up,  pressing  hands  on  the  small  of  his  back 
to  ease  its  stiffness. 

"Now,  Doc,  she  ain't  got  no  confidence  in  you,  you 
see,"  he  $aid,  grinning. 

"The  feeling  is  mutual,"  Cryder  answered.  He 
advanced  through  the  potato  vines  and  stopped  by  the 
man,  where  he  gazed  at  a  tin  can  containing  kerosene 
and  potato  bugs.  "What  do  you  do  with  'em?  Use 
'em  as  boot  in  horse  trades?" 

The  other  laughed  without  sound.  His  name  was 
Hollister  and  he  was  an  "old  batch,"  of  sixty-odd  years, 
whose  timber  claim  included  the  clearing.  His  hair 
was  iron-gray  and  he  had  a  hatchet  face;  and  he  was 


44  CRYDER 

shrewd,  in  a  trade  unscrupulous,  and,  it  was  known, 
had  money  in  a  bank  in  Maronville.  At  times  he  went 
up  and  down  the  Furness  River  with  a  string  of  six  or 
eight  horses  tied  to  a  covered  wagon,  making  trades. 
When  Kettle  Creek  was  first  settled  he  had  hewn  out 
the  clearing  and  built  the  log  structures  which  he  sold 
or  rented  at  an  advantage.  He  affected  joviality  with 
men  and  women  alike,  but  he  would  cheat  a  housewife  in 
a  trade  of  frying-pans  as  readily  as  he  would  swindle 
a  man  in  a  horse  deal.  Still,  he  was  liked.  He  was 
a  great  story-teller  and  a  fiddler,  playing  at  Kettle 
Creek  dances,  on  which  account  his  trickery  was  over- 
looked. 

"Reckon  I  could  trade  the  bugs  to  some;  there's 
plenty  of  fools,"  said  he.  "Bad  accident  on  the  river 
yesterday,  wasn't  it?  Heard  you  brought  home  a 
feller  from  there.  Much  hurt?" 

"Leg  fractured." 

"And  four  was  drowned,  they  say,  and  the  manager 
of  the  mill  one  of  them.  Didn't  know  him  personal. 
What  d'you  think,  Doc,  will  the  new  manager,  whoever 
he  is,  be  reasonable  and  buy  our  timber?" 

"Probably  not." 

"I'm  thinking  he  will,"  Hollister  said.  "The 
company  has  to  come  to  our  terms  sooner  or  later,  and 
it  might  as  well  be  sooner.  It's  costin'  'em  too  much 
to  bring  down  logs  from  'way  up  the  river,  as  everybody 
knows.  Heard  Mrs.  Beeler's  gone,  too.  So?" 

"She  died  this  morning,"  was  the  answer.  "The 
funeral  will  be  at  two  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon. 
Can  I  count  on  you  to  act  as  one  of  the  pall-bearers  ? " 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  45 

"Surely,  surely,  Doc.  I  was  all  cast  down  when  I 
learned  the  bad  news.  A  good  woman  gone,  a  mighty 
good  woman.  Our  time  on  this  earth  is  short  and 
troubled  and  awful  uncertain,  as  the  Scriptures  says; 
we  never  know  when  we'll  be  cut  down  by  the  Lord's 
scythe."  He  paused  to  shout  at  his  cow,  which  was 
pulling  at  the  pin.  "There's  the  Beelers  now,  as  an 
example,"  he  went  on.  "First,  Sam  Beeler  was  killed 
accidental  two  years  ago,  and  to-day  it's  his  wife  gone. 
What  will  Minnie  do?  She  ain't  but  seventeen,  with 
no  kin — leastways  in  these  parts." 

"I  haven't  talked  with  Minnie  yet  about  her  future," 
Cryder  stated.  "However,  we'll  arrange  it  in  some 
way." 

"It's  not  likely  she'll  want  to  stay,"  Hollister 
pursued.  "And  if  she  goes  off  some'eres,  some  money 
would  come  in  handy.  If  she'll  sell  the  Beeler  claim  for 
a  fair  price,  seein'  it's  hers  now,  and  makin'  an  induce- 
ment for  cash,  I'd  consider  buyin'  it." 

"Oh,  you  would,  would  you?" 

"If  the  price  was  trimmed.     Maybe." 

"Well,  you  won't  get  it,"  Cryder  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  Minnie's  a  minor  and  can't  sell  till  she 
comes  of  age.  But  if  she  were  old  enough,  I  wouldn't 
let  you  do  her  out  of  that  timber.  I  know  you;  you'd 
rob  her  as  quick  as  you  would  any  one.  For  half  a 
cent  I'd  wring  your  neck  for  even  thinking  of  it." 

"Doc,  I  wasn't  thinkin'  anything  of  the  kind." 

"Don't  say  you  didn't  consider  it,  for  you  did," 
Cryder  retorted.  "Lord!  Scheming  to  defraud  the 


46  CRYDER 

girl  before  her  dead  mother's  underground !     You  gray- 
headed  old  scoundrel— 

"Now,  Doc — now,  Doc.     Keep  cool." 
But  by  this  time  the  surgeon  was  fully  incensed. 
"And   another  thing,"   he   roared,   his    look    having 
fallen  on  the  cow  which  reminded  him  of  a  complaint 
made  by  Mrs.  Mercer  two  days  previous.     "You  de- 
liver my  full  amount  of  milk  or  I'll  know  why.     Mrs. 
Mercer  says  you're  systematically  scrimping  what  you 
bring  and  I  won't  have  that.     You  can't  put  one  over 
on  me." 

"Doc,  that  woman  jest  can't  measure  right." 
"And  I'm  going  to  cut  this  month's  payment  to  you, 
yes,  sir,  cut  it!  Twenty-five  per  cent. — no,  fifty  per 
cent.,"  Cryder  went  on  fiercely.  "That  will  teach 
you.  That  will  show  you  I'm  not  to  be  monkeyed 
with.  By  heavens,  you'll  bring  me  all  the  milk  I'm 
entitled  to  or  there'll  be  blood  on  the  moon!  Just  be- 
cause I'm  good-natured  and  easy-going  and  soft,  you 
and  all  the  rest  of  Kettle  Creek  think  I'm  a  mark. 

Yes,  sir,  that's  it!     But " 

"Now,  Doc,  you  know  that  isn't  so." 
"  But,  by  the  eternal,  you're  going  to  find  out  differ- 
ently!" Cryder  shouted.  "I've  stood  about  all  of  your 
nonsense  I'm  going  to."  He  shook  a  finger  savagely 
at  the  other.  "You  bring  all  my  milk!  All — do  you 
hear?  Not  a  spoonful  short,  not  a  drop  missing. 
That's  my  last  word." 

"Now,  listen,  Doc,  that  old  woman " 

"Oh,  excuses  again.     I  won't  listen.     I  want  milk, 
not  talk.     And  remember  it." 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  47 

Cryder  plowed  away  through  the  vines  and  struck 
off  for  the  store,  where  three  men  stood  talking.  One 
was  Abie  Goldberg,  the  little  Jew  who  conducted  the 
place;  one,  old  Arnold  Meek,  with  a  patriarchal  white 
beard,  who  lived  near  the  head  of  the  valley;  and 
the  third,  a  man  named  Pinney,  who  six  weeks  before 
had  come  to  stay  with  the  Martins,  a  half-brother  of 
Mrs.  Martin,  whom  Doctor  Cryder  had  contemptuously 
designated  a  "sawmill  promoter  paranoiac." 

As  the  surgeon  expected,  Pinney  was  descanting 
on  the  subject  of  a  Kettle  Creek  cooperative  lumber 
company  with  a  sawmill  of  its  own,  which  he  was  striv- 
ing to  organize. 

"A  small  mill  to  begin  with,"  sounded  in  Cryder's 
ears  first  thing,  "a  small  sawmill  that  can  be  increased 
in  capacity  as  business  warrants.  I  can  demonstrate 
to  your  complete  satisfaction,  Mr.  Meek,  that  a 
company  like  this  will  pay  a  profit  from  the  first  hour." 

He  twitched  his  shoulders  and  continually  thrust 
forward  his  chin  as  he  talked.  He  was  short,  thin, 
nervous,  with  a  drooping  sandy  moustache  and  wander- 
ing brown  eyes  and  a  worried  aspect  made  no  more 
impressive  by  a  suit  of  black,  worn,  shiny,  celluloid 
collar  and  cuffs,  and  a  cracked  derby  hat  exceedingly 
dusty.  For  his  project  he  had  gained  a  few  signers, 
though  not  a  tenth  of  the  timber  owners;  but  he  was 
not  discouraged.  He  continued  to  go  about  from 
cabin  to  cabin,  where  he  explained,  argued,  reiterated, 
demonstrated,  and  declaimed  the  merits  of  his  scheme. 

As  Cryder  joined  the  trio,  the  promoter  went  on 
steadily:  "Any  number  of  retail  lumber  dealers  will 


48  CRYDER 

prefer  to  buy  their  stock  from  a  cooperative  company. 
They  desire  to  escape  the  necessity  of  purchasing  from 
the  Trust — and  unquestionably,  Mr.  Meek,  there  is  a 
lumber  trust.  I've  investigated  that.  Then,  too,  we 
shall  sell  direct  to  the  farmers  of  the  country,  who  are 
very  much  dissatisfied  with  things  as  they  are.  They 
number  ten  millions — an  enormous  market."  He  drew 
forth  a  lead  pencil  and  gently  tapped  Arnold  Meek 
on  the  breast  to  emphasize  his  point.  "Now,  for 
instance,  let  us  take  North  Dakota  alone.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  Non-Partisan  League  will  be  only  too  eager 
to  buy  in  carload  lots  from  a  cooperative  mill.  They 
are  hostile  to  the  big  lumber  companies.  They  will  do 
business  with  us  at  once.  So,  you  observe,  a  market 
for  our  product  already  exists,  and  from  the  start  our 
company  shall  be  a  success.  But,  Mr.  Meek,  to  assure 
its  smooth  operation  it's  essential  that  we  have  the 
support  of  all,  with  every  owner  of  timber  on  Kettle 
Creek  in  our  company.  When  we  have  that,  we  shall 
proceed — and  make  millions  in  honest  profits." 

"I  was  waiting  to  hear  something  like  that,"  said 
Cryder. 

"Ah,  it's  you,  Doctor.  I  had  not  perceived  that  you 
were  here,"  Pinney  returned,  in  surprise.  "But  I'm 
quite  correct — quite  correct,  sir,  in  the  amount  stated. 
In  fact,  I  put  it  very  moderately." 

"Then  you're  certainly  up  in  the  clouds,"  the  other 
derided.  "But  what  will  the  Hedley  Lumber  Com- 
pany be  doing  all  this  time?" 

"Nothing  that  will  concern  us." 

"Oh,  won't  it!     Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  will  be 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  49 

doing.  It  won't  be  asleep;  it  will  undersell  you  and 
outmanoeuvre  you  at  every  turn,  and  force  you  into 
bankruptcy." 

Pinney  halted  him  with  uplifted  hand. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  Doctor;  you  don't  understand 
the  matter.  Our  costs  will  be  so  low  that  we'll  be  the 
ones  who  can  undersell  if  necessary." 

"Never,"  Cryder  exclaimed.  "Not  undersell  the 
Hedley  mill,  which  has  all  the  Heidenstreit  money  and 
power  behind  it.  And  it  has  no  love  for  Kettle 
Creekers,  bear  in  mind.  It  would  enjoy  nothing  more 
than  putting  a  Kettle  Creek  company  out  of  business. 
But  leaving  that  aside,  you  couldn't  raise  the  money 
to  finance  your  concern." 

On  that  Pjnney  began  to  manifest  excitement, 
jerking  his  shoulders  and  stretching  his  neck. 

"I  have — I  have,  sir,"  he  cried.  "I've  attended  to 
that;  it's  arranged  for.  We  can  borrow  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  from  a  Maronville  bank  in  a  one- 
year  loan,  which  will  enable  us  to  build  the  mill  and 
start  business.  Before  the  loan  falls  due  we'll  sell  bonds 
and  be  ready  to  take  care  of  it,  and  our  financing  will  be 
accomplished.  I  saw  about  the  loan  last  week  when 
in  town.'" 

"Well,  all  I've  got  to  say,"  Cryder  remarked,  "is 
that  any  banker  who  would  loan  you  money  on  such 
a  crazy  scheme  as  yours  is  crazy  himself.  What  bank 
was  it?" 

"At  present  I  must  keep  the  name  of  the  institution 
in  confidence.  The  negotiations  are  not  fully  com- 
pleted." 


5o  CRYDER 

"Oh-h-h-h!  Not  fully  completed.  Still  talking 
about  it.  There's  many  a  slip  between  the  cup  and  the 
lip.  However,  I'll  say  this:  Loan  or  no  loan,  your 
company  will  fail." 

"On  the  contrary,  Doctor,  on  the  contrary.  Now 
let  me  demonstrate  to  you  how — 

Cryder  waved  him  off. 

"Don't  want  to  hear,"  he  declared.  "You've  had 
me  by  the  sleeve  a  dozen  times  and  it  sounds  wilder 
each  time.  Know  the  whole  rigmarole.  And  Kettle 
Creek  surely  would  go  smash  if  it  followed  you.  Come 
along  in,  Abie;  I  want  you." 


in 


"Vat  you  vant?"  the  little  Jew  asked  when  inside. 

"Look  at  this  floor,  Goldberg." 

"Veil,  vat?" 

"Cigarette  butts,  burnt  matches,  molasses  drippings, 
dead  flies,  greasy  papers.  Haven't  I  told  you  a 
thousand  times  it's  a  breeding-spot  for  infection  ?  Why 
don't  you  sweep  out  the  mess?  And  scrub  the  floor 
with  soap  and  water?" 

"But  alvays  it  comes  back." 

"Which  is  reason  enough,  you  think,  for  allowing 
the  place  to  remain  a  pig-sty.  What  do  you  imagine 
brooms  are  for?" 

"To  sell,"  said  Goldberg,  confidently. 

Cryder  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"I'd  like  to  saw  open  that  thick  skull  of  yours,"  said 
he,  "and  find  if  there's  anything  there  besides  bone." 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  51 

"Not  a  ting  but  bone,  Doc.     Yust  ivory." 

"You  poor  little  bi-furnate  ossification  of  a  Hebrew 
animalcule,  you're  hopeless!  Well,  clean  up  here  be- 
fore I  come  in  again,  or  I'll — yes,  I'll  quarantine  you 
for  small-pox.  Stick  a  yellow  placard  on  your  door  and 
jail  you  if  you  tear  it  off.  Hear?" 

"Ruin  my  pusiness!     Doc,  you  nefer  vould." 

"This  very  day." 

"To-morrow  I ' 

"To-day.     Within  an  hour.     Now." 

"Oh,  veil,  den,  I'll  tell  mamma  to  get  pizzy." 

"And  see  that  your  wife  not  only  sweeps  but  scrubs 
the  floor  as  well,"  Cryder  stated,  with  emphasis.  "I'm 
tired  of  wading  in  here  through  filth.  Now,  so  much 
for  that;  I  came  on  another  matter.  Mrs.  Beeler  died 
this  morning  and  I  appoint  you,  Abie,  to  find  a  couple 
of  the  boys  who'll  go  to  the  burying  ground  and  dig  a 
grave.  This  afternoon,  without  fail.  The  funeral's 
to-morrow." 

"I'll  addend  to  id,  Doc,"  Goldberg  answered.  "I 
been  vaiting  for  you  to  come  in  apoud  it.  And  how 
apoud  a  gasket?  Mrs.  Peeler  vill  vant  a  gasket  and 
I'll  subbly  id  for  dventy  dollars — ferry  good,  ferry 
lofely,  vit  fine  lumber  painted  valnut  or  sherry  or  oak 
and  vit  prittiest  drimmings  and  lace.  Lofely,  so 
lofely.  And  only  dventy  dollars!" 

"All  right;  make  it.  See,  too,  that  the  paint  is  dry, 
for  it  wasn't  the  last  time.  When  you've  found  men  to 
dig  the  grave,  you  can  start  work  on  it  at  once." 

"Vat  colour,  Doc?" 

"Oh,  either  walnut  or  oak.     Your  cherry's  a  trifle 


52  CRYDER 

too  gaudy.  Just  the  thing  for  a  Chinaman's  coffin, 
but  we  want  something  quieter  for  Mrs.  Heeler's 
casket." 

"But  apoud  de  pay,  de  dventy  dollars?  Minnie 
Peeler  haf  noddings  pud  her  freckles  and  her  appedide." 

"The  woman  must  have  a  decent  box  to  lie  in,"  the 
surgeon  replied,  impatiently.  "I'll  stand  good  for 
the  amount.  Have  the  casket  at  the  Beeler  cabin 
not  later  than  noon  to-morrow.  And  remember" — he 
pointed  a  stern  ringer  at  the  floor — "this  must  be 
scoured  at  once." 

When  he  stepped  from  the  store  he  beheld  the  saw- 
mill promoter,  Pinney,  and  old  Arnold  Meek  still  en- 
grossed in  talk,  and  heard  the  latter  say  with  a  thought- 
ful mien  and  in  deliberate  tones: 

"I'll  not  decide  at  this  moment,  Mr.  Pinney.  I 
understand  that  the  manager  of  the  Hedley  Lumber 
Company  was  drowned  yesterday  and  this  will  mean  a 
new  manager  who  perhaps  will  deal  fairly  with  us.  The 
company  will  soon  want  our  timber.  It's  costing  it  a 
great  amount  of  money  to  drive  down  the  logs  it's 
now  getting  and  of  course  those  at  the  head  of  the 
company  know  this.  I  can  see  no  way  in  which  the  new 
manager  can  avoid  coming  to  terms  with  us  in  the  near 
future.  Even  if  the  Hedley  people  pay  what  we  ask, 
still  they  would  make  more  money  for  themselves  in 
buying  our  timber,  however  much  they  dislike  to  do  so. 
We're  all  agreed  that's  the  case."  He  stroked  his 
beard  with  a  slow  movement  of  his  hand.  "It  will  be 
wisest  to  wait  before  signing  your  paper  and  learn  what 
the  company  intends  to  do.  I  don't  want  to  act 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  53 

hastily.  Should  I  receive  an  offer  from  the  new 
manager  which  meets  my  price,  I  then  should  sell.  I'm 
asking  fifteen  thousand  dollars  for  my  timber  claim, 
with  which  I  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied.  A  fair  price, 
is  it  not,  Doctor?"  He  turned  with  an  inquiring  look 
to  Cryder. 

"You'll  have  to  cut  that  figure  if  you  ever  sell, 
Arnold,"  was  the  reply.  "But  personally  I  believe 
Kettle  Creek  and  the  Hedley  company  never  will  get 
together  on  a  deal." 

"Well,  I  think  we  shall,"  said  the  other.  "The 
lumber  company  is  about  at  the  point  where  it's  com- 
pelled to  take  this  timber  at  our  price.  All  we  have  to 
do  now  is  to  wait." 

"As  you've  been  waiting  for  twenty  years,"  Cryder 
exclaimed.  "As  you'll  wait  another  score  of  years.  As 
you'll  still  be  tarrying  in  hope  when  Gabriel  blows  the 
last  trump." 

Simple  Kettle  Creekers,  poor  deluded  creatures, 
donkey-minded  devotees  of  a  preposterous  chimera! 
As  if  the  great  Heidenstreit  interests  would  or  could  be 
forced  to  a  purchase  against  their  will! 

Cryder  had  early  learned  the  history  of  the  settle- 
ment and  the  origin  of  its  long-protracted  quarrel  with 
the  Hedley  Lumber  Company.  In  respect  to  it  he  held 
himself  aloof.  He  considered  that  both  parties  had  in 
the  beginning  been  equally  at  fault  and  were  in  main- 
taining it  equally  asinine:  both  tarred  by  the  same  stick. 
If  they  would  but  let  commonsense  enter  their  minds, 
if  they  would  only  abate  their  ancient  rancour,  drop 
their  recriminations,  forego  their  hatred,  then  there 


54  CRYDER 

should  be  a  chance  for  them  to  arrive  at  a  fair  agree- 
ment. But  they  were  miles  apart.  The  settlers  de- 
manded for  their  claims  fifteen  and  twenty  thousand 
dollars  and  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  steadfastly 
refused  to  raise  its  offer  of  one  thousand  per  quarter, 
made  years  previous.  Thus  they  remained  unalterably 
set  in  their  respective  positions,  as  in  granitic  matrices, 
bitter,  determined,  uncompromising,  each  resolved  to 
force  the  victory. 

The  whole  business  Cryder  considered  chargeable 
and  corrupt.  It  amounted  to  no  more  than  this,  a 
falling  out  among  themselves  of  thieves  who  had  con- 
spired to  loot  the  Government — a  timber  deal  criminal 
in  its  inception,  illicit  in  its  nature,  and  stultified  by  bad 
faith.  In  seeds  of  hate  fructifying  from  such  a  baneful 
vine  the  surgeon  saw  nothing  strange.  Inevitably  it 
would  be  so.  Inevitably,  he  believed,  like  produces 
like,  evil  begets  evil,  until  in  the  flux  of  time  the  mis- 
chief expends  itself  and  ceases.  Kettle  Creekers  now 
were  paying  and  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  was 
paying  in  mutual  distrust  and  enmity  for  their  old  sin 
and  would  continue  to  pay  till  the  score  was  settled, 
till  this  particular  moral  account  was  closed  by  the 
obscure  but  inflexible  law  governing  such  matters. 

Once  Cryder  had  undertaken  to  bring  together  the 
two  parties  to  the  quarrel  in  an  agreement  whereby  a 
price  for  the  timber  should  be  determined  by  disinter- 
ested appraisers.  But  naught  came  of  it.  With  his 
very  first  word  both  sides  had  rejected  the  plan  as  if  it 
were  a  nettle. 

This  put  him  in  a  rage.     To  be  told  to  mind  his  own 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  55 

business!  Hereafter,  as  far  as  he  cared,  they  might  cut 
each  other's  throats  and  go  to  the  devil.  He  was  done 
with  them  in  their  row,  Hedley  company  and  Kettle 
Creekers  alike.  Of  the  two  the  latter  in  his  estimation 
were  the  more  reprehensible,  for  they  were  his  own 
neighbours,  in  a  sense,  his  proteges,  to  whom  he  gave 
advice,  to  whom  he  made  loans  which  they  forgot  to 
pay,  and  to  whom  generally  he  ministered.  Now  they 
could  wait  till  doomsday  to  sell  their  timber — and  he 
hoped  they  should!  It  would  serve  them  about  right 
if  he  shut  up  shop  and  stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
never  again  gave  one  of  them  a  dose  of  oil  or  a  "shot" 
of  serum.  They  weren't  worth  it,  not  one  of  them.  A 
pack  of  degenerated  timber  cooties.  Morons,  that's 
what  they  were,  just  morons. 

Eventually  his  ill-humour  subsided,  but  he  would 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  dispute.  As  a  ne- 
gotiable case,  he  saw  nothing  for  it;  the  feeling  between 
the  parties  was  too  bitter. 

"Arnold,  let  this  timber  talk  rest  for  a  moment," 
he  addressed  the  old  man.  "You  and  Pinney  can  dis- 
cuss it  some  other  time.  Mrs.  Beeler  died  to-day." 

"So  I  was  informed." 

"The  funeral  will  be  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock  and 
I  wish  you  to  take  charge  of  the  service,  as  usual. 
Choose  a  hymn  or  two  for  the  women  to  sing,  have 
a  prayer,  some  remarks,  a  benediction — the  customary 
rites." 

"Very  well,  Doctor." 

"Don't  make  your  talk  too  long." 

"No  longer  than  it  should  be  for  a  devout  observance 


56  CRYDER 

and  spiritual  strengthening,"  was  the  grave  answer. 
"Are  you  walking  up  the  street?  I'll  return  home  at 
once  to  examine  Scriptural  passages  and  meditate  upon 
the  best  thoughts  for  my  sermon." 

Cryder  groaned  to  himself;  he  knew  Arnold  Meek  and 
his  sermons.  At  a  cabin,  the  Nichols  dwelling,  he 
parted  from  his  companion.  Inside  he  found  Mrs. 
Nichols  standing  over  a  dishpan  of  hot  water,  plucking 
a  grouse. 

"Where's  Myra?"  he  questioned.  "I  want  her  to 
come  to  the  hospital  and  nurse." 

"She's  up  at  Beelers',  Doctor,  comfortin'  Minnie," 
was  the  response.  "I  don't  think  she'll  go  for  you, 
though.  She  says  the  last  time  she  helped  at  the  hos- 
pital she  strained  her  back  liftin'." 

"Pity  about  her  back!     She's  strong  as  an  ox." 

"Well,  she  declares  she  won't  go  no  more,  but  if  you 
want  to  you  can  go  there  and  talk  with  her  about  it. 
Terrible  about  Mrs.  Beeler,  wasn't  it?  Gone  so  rapid. 
Funeral's  to-morrow,  I  hear.  Will  you  have  old 
Arnold  Meek  conduct  the  buryin'  instead  of  a  regular 
minister  from  somewheres?  Not  that  Arnold  can't 
pray  and  preach  as  hard  and  as  long  as  any  of  them 
when  he  once  gets  settled  to  work,  but  he's  so  awful  slow 
gettin'  warmed  up  to  it.  Besides,  he  ain't  been  or- 
dained, neither,  to  say  nothin'  of  his  bein'  a  Dunkard 
and  always  draggin'  in  an  arg'ment  for  feet-washin'  in 
his  sermons  at  funerals." 

"I've  already  asked  him." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  keeps  ofFn  feet-washin'  this  time 
for  a  change."  She  rubbed  her  cheek  with  dripping 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  57 

hand.  "And  say.  Is  my  boy  comin' to  drive  for  you? 
I  heard  he  was." 

"Yes.     I've  hired  Nick;  he's  to  show  up  to-day." 

"That's  what  I  was  told,  and  so  I'm  gettin'  ready  a 
chicken  for  him.  He's  awful  fond  of  chicken." 

"Chicken  nothing!" 

"Maybe  not,  but  he's  goin'  to  have  it  anyway." 

"I'll  have  you  fined  for  shooting  game  out  of  season, 
that's  what." 

"Get  out  with  you,  Doc,  you  and  your  nonsense. 
Or  I'll  slam  you  with  a  handful  of  wet  feathers.  Don't 
you  think  a  mother  likes  to  fix  something  special  for  her 
boy  when  he  comes  home?  And  Nicky's  such  a  good 
boy,  better'n  most." 

"  So  that's  it,"  said  Cryder,  in  a  milder  tone.  "Guess 
I'll  overlook  your  little  infraction  of  the  law  this  time — 
and  Nick's  a  pretty  fair  lad,  for  a  fact.  I'll  be  on  my 
way  now." 

At  the  Beeler  cabin  Myra,  steadily  chewing  a  wad 
of  gum,  insisted  that  her  back  had  been  strained  and 
refused  to  nurse  for  the  surgeon.  Hers  was  a  broad  fat 
back  and  somehow  her  statement  was  not  convincing. 
Neither  would  Minnie  Beeler  agree  to  undertake  the 
work  to-morrow  after  her  mother's  funeral;  she  was 
planning  to  go  to  Maronville  since  she  need  not  stay 
here  longer,  she  announced,  where  for  some  time  Pearl 
Martin  had  been  employed  in  the  telephone  exchange 
and  where  she  had  urged  by  letter  that  Minnie  also 
come.  Farther  up  the  creek  at  other  cabins  he  had  no 
better  luck.  The  three  Krause  girls  were  visiting  at 
Porcupine  Hill.  The  Carillons  had  occupation  for 


58  CRYDER 

their  daughter.  Others  gave  reasons.  And  May 
Johnson  wouldn't  come  because  she  had  had  enough 
of  "that  old  Mercer  cat."  So  it  went. 

Finally,  toward  three  o'clock,  he  gave  over  the  hunt 
as  he  could  spare  no  more  time,  having  to  make  his  call 
at  the  Pembleton  ranch  where  the  child  lay  sick  with 
spotted  fever.  Nothing  remained  to  do  but  secure  a 
nurse  from  the  outside,  if  necessary  a  trained  nurse. 

When  he  returned  to  the  hospital  he  consulted  his 
patient  about  the  matter. 

"How  much  will  a  trained  nurse  cost?"  Huff  asked. 

"Forty  a  week.  I'll  probably  have  to  send  to 
Spokane  for  one;  and  they  increase  their  charge  for 
coming  out  here." 

"Why  not  have  my  sister?     She's  in  Maronville." 

Cryder  had  not  been  aware  that  the  youth  had  a 
sister. 

"The  very  thing!"  he  exclaimed.  "Where  can  I 
reach  her?" 

"At  the  sawmill  office." 

"I'll  have  her  here  to-morrow." 

Whereupon  the  surgeon  went  out  of  the  ward  and  into 
his  study.  He  rang  up  Berger  at  his  telephone  and 
asked  for  a  connection  with  the  office  of  the  Hedley 
Lumber  Company,  at  Maronville.  When  he  had 
obtained  this,  and  HufPs  sister  at  the  other  end,  he 
explained  his  need.  Could  she  come? 

Then  she  should  plan  to  stay  some  time,  bringing 
plenty  of  clothes  and  not  forgetting  stout  shoes  and 
a  sweater.  She  best  had  come  to-morrow  on  the  stage 
as  far  as  the  log-drivers'  camp  at  Tupper's  Bend,  alight- 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  59 

ing  there,  where  his  car  would  pick  her  up  and  bring  her 
on.  Her  trunk  could  follow  later.  Was  her  brother's 
condition  serious?  Oh,  no.  Nothing  to  worry  about. 

IV 

The  conversation  finished,  Cryder  rose  and  turned 
from  his  desk,  ready  to  set  out  on  his  thirty-mile  drive 
to  the  Pembleton  ranch.  But  he  instantly  stopped. 
Across  the  room  by  the  door  his  look  encountered  a 
slender  feminine  figure  a  pace  before  the  threshold,  a 
woman  in  a  dark  blue  suit  throwing  back  an  azure  veil. 

He  stared  incredulously,  then  relaxed  and  con- 
sidered her  with  compressed  lips  and  cowled  brows. 

"May  I  ask  the  reason  for  this  intrusion?"  he  said, 
at  last. 

"Don't  use  that  freezing  tone,  Robert,"  the  visitor 
responded  quickly.  "I  wanted  to  see  you  and  so  I 
came.  Can't  you  give  me  a  kindlier  welcome  than 
this?" 

Cryder  folded  his  arms.     "No,"  said  he. 

"I — I  need  it,  Bob.  I'm  depressed,  unhappy,  in  low 
spirits."  She  half-turned,  closed  the  door,  and  ad- 
vanced until  she  was  before  him.  "I  was  restless  at 
home.  I  couldn't  endure  the  commiseration  of  people 
who  were  continually  telephoning  or  sending  notes  or 
knocking  at  the  door  to  offer  hollow  condolences;  I 
wanted  to  escape  the  abominable  pretense  in  it  all.  So 
I  drove  to  the  camp  at  Tupper's  Bend  to  learn  what 
was  being  done  to  recover  Jim's  body  and  there  a  young 
fellow  named  Nichols  who  had  come  up  on  a  freight 
wagon  and  was  coming  here  offered  to  drive  me 


60  CRYDER 

when  I  asked  him  the  way.  When  we  reached  this 
spot,  he  said  that  if  you  were  at  home  you  would  be  in 
this  building  and  probably  in  this  room.  I  entered  the 
hallway.  I  heard  you  telephoning.  The  door  was  open 
and  I  stepped  in." 

"Your  coming  is  a  case  of  curiosity,  I  presume." 

"No,  Bob.     Please  don't  be  bitter." 

"I  can't  account  for  your  presence  in  any  other  way," 
he  said. 

The  woman  stood  silent,  flushing  slightly  under  his 
hard  scrutiny.  She  had  not  anticipated  any  warmth 
in  her  reception  and  yet  woman-like  she  was  vexed  be- 
cause it  was  lacking. 

"I  told  you  why  I  came,"  she  went  on,  presently. 
"I'm  lonely  and  wretched  in  mind." 

"Because  of  Forsythe's  death?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  decided  to  come  to  me  for  solace,"  he 
remarked,  ironically.  "To  me,  of  all  persons!" 

At  the  biting  words  she  was  swept  by  a  gust  of  anger, 
but  this  she  repressed. 

"No,  not  for  solace,"  she  replied.  "For  relief.  To 
get  away  from  all  the  ghastly  falsities  of  sorrow  that  I'm 
expected  to  maintain.  I  wanted  a  moment  in  which  I 
could  be  just  myself,  and  you're  the  one  person  in  the 
world,  Bob,  before  whom  I  need  not  play  the  hypocrite. 
If  I  had  loved  Jim  it  would  be  different,  but  I  did  not. 
And  I  feel  no  grief.  How  could  I?  When  a  man  dies 
who  made  your  life  a  beastly  hell,  you  don't  feel  grief. 
He  did  that  when  on  his  periodical  drunks;  he  was  a 
demon  then  and  had  me  living  in  disgust  and  terror. 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  61 

Other  times  he  was  good-natured  enough  and  on 
occasion  even  prodigal  with  me,  imagining  that  that 
made  up  for  his  brutality  during  sprees.  But  it  didn't. 
It  couldn't." 

"When  did  you  marry  him?" 

"Five  years  ago." 

"AndwhatofHamlin?" 

"I  was  divorced  from  him  six  months  before  I 
married  Jim." 

"Why?"  Cryder  interrogated,  coldly. 

"My  marriage  to  him  was  a  wretched  mistake,  too, 
as  I  discovered  within  a  month.  Hamlin  revealed  him- 
self so  mean  and  petty  and  jealous  and  generally  in- 
sufferable after  the  first  few  weeks  that  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  bear  with  the  man  as  long  as  I  did.  He  was 
forever  nagging  about  pennies.  He  was  forever  preen- 
ing himself  as  superior.  Then  he  got  into  a  way  of 
slurring  me  and  was  insanely  jealous  if  another  man  so 
much  as  lifted  his  hat  in  passing.  Finally,  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  If  I  had  only  known  where  you  were!" 

"I  was  here  safe  from  seeing  you.  Until  now,"  said 
he. 

At  that  her  look  travelled  around  the  rude  chamber. 

"And  you've  lived  here  ever  since  we  parted?"  she 
questioned,  curiously.  "In  this  spot?  For  ten 
years?" 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

"And  in  perfect  contentment?" 

"Yes.     Why  not?" 

"But  it's  like  exile!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  gesture  of 
repugnance. 


62  CRYDER 

"Suits  me,"  was  his  curt  rejoinder. 

"I  can't  see  why  you  didn't  go  to  a  city  where  you 
would  have  had  opportunity  compatible  with  your 
ability,  Robert;  for  Doctor  Martin  says  you  have  great 
talents  in  surgery  and  could  stand  at  the  top  of  the 
profession  in  any  place — San  Francisco,  Chicago,  New 
York.  And  I  believe  it." 

A  hard  smile  twisted  Cryder's  lips. 

"Your  opinion  of  me,  I  recall,  was  different  the  last 
time  we  conversed,  painfully  different  in  all  particu- 
lars," he  remarked,  dryly. 

"We  both  spoke  words  then  that  we  should  erase  from 
our  minds,"  said  she. 

"Not  I." 

"We  were  angry  and  carried  away  by  our  feelings, 
Bob,  and  neither  of  us  really  meant— 

His  hand,  peremptorily  uplifted,  stopped  her  speech. 
A  dark  tide  of  blood  was  coursing  under  the  skin  of  his 
face  and  his  deep-set  eyes  smouldered  with  fire. 

"  Enough  of  your  euphemisms ! "  he  said,  harshly.  "  I 
was  poor — and  in  your  opinion  a  failure;  Hamlin  seemed 
a  likelier  man.  Deliberately  and  in  cold  blood  you 
divorced  me  for  him,  which  is  the  whole  of  the  matter 
I  was  kind  to  you,  loved  you,  was  faithful,  gave  all  that. 
I  had  to  give,  but  you  craved  the  flesh-pots." 

Turning  away,  he  crossed  to  a  window  overlooking 
the  forest,  where  he  stood  gazing  out  on  the  sea  of  tree- 
tops. 

The  woman's  regard  steadily  remained  fixed  on  him. 
He  was  right:  she  had  thought  him  in  that  other  time  a 
failure,  an  impoverished  doctor  without  prospects — and 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  63 

worse,  a  poor,  noisy,  distracted,  inept  fool.  Well,  she 
had  misjudged  him.  He  had  shown  after  all  that  some- 
thing worth  while  could  come  from  his  fierce  energy  and 
his  heated  head.  And  he  had  loved  her — and  she  had 
loved  him,  yes,  passionately,  utterly,  in  the  first  months 
of  their  marriage. 

A  strange  trembling  seized  her.  Through  her  mind 
shot  an  apprehension  that  she  had  missed  life's  happi- 
ness. 

The  log  wall  and  window  made  a  frame  for  the  man. 
She  perceived  that  in  the  ten  years  since  she  had  seen 
him  he  had  put  on  weight.  His  shoulders  were  thicker, 
his  bulk  more  pronounced,  even  his  head  seemed  more 
solid,  more  massive.  His  coarse  black  hair,  now  that 
it  was  beginning  to  be  silvered,  gave  him  a  distinguished 
look.  The  lines  about  his  large  eyes  and  nose  had 
deepened,  while  the  contour  of  his  jaw  was  squarer. 
A  man  in  middle  life  and  in  the  fullness  of  powers  he  had 
become.  Formerly  he  had  appeared  to  her,  at  the 
time  she  left  him,  a  fellow  who  was  tumultuous,  vocifer- 
ous, ridiculous;  but  here  was  a  Robert  Cryder  on  whose 
countenance  (at  least  when  in  repose)  was  stamped 
intelligence  and  character. 

Unconsciously  she  intertwined  her  fingers  and 
twisted  them  tight,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"Robert,"  she  whispered. 

He  faced  about.     "Well,  Peg?" 

"I  told  you  the  truth  when  I  said  I  was  lonely.  I've 
been  lonely  for  ten  years." 

"You'll  have  to  get  over  that  as  best  you  can." 

"Ever  since  I  learned  you  were  here,  I " 


64  CRYDER 

"No,  I'll  not  listen,"  he  cut  her  off. 

"But " 

"No." 

"If  you  hate  me  so,  why  did  you  operate  on  me  last 
autumn?"  she  demanded,  resentfully.  "Why  didn't 
you  let  me  die?" 

"You  were  on  the  table." 

"That  made  no  difference." 

"Ah,  it  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world,"  said  he. 

"But  it  would  have  been  your  chance  for  revenge," 
she  said,  bitterly. 

A  shadowy  smile  hovered  on  Cryder's  face. 

"Revenge?"  said  he.  "The  word  isn't  in  the 
vocabulary  of  sane  men.  Not  in  a  surgeon's,  certainly. 
You  know  as  well  as  I  that  once  I  have  a  lance  in  my 
hand  and  a  life  in  my  charge,  I'm  under  a  sacred 
obligation  to  accomplish  my  task  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  no  matter  who  the  patient  is  and  without  regard 
for  my  personal  feelings.  That's  my  contract  with 
society,  my  inviolable  trust,  the  seal  of  my  honour. 
But  that  sounds  a  bit  like  bombast.  The  point  is,  I 
operated  you  as  readily  as  I  should  any  one  requiring  an 
operation;  if  need  be  I  would  do  it  again  to-morrow, 
and  you  could  feel  yourself  perfectly  safe  in  my  hands." 

"I  did  before,  Bob,  for  that  matter." 

"Why,  then,  the  foolish  question  about  letting  you 
die?"  he  asked,  impatiently. 

"I  was  angered  by  the  way  you  refused  to  listen. 
You  always  did  cause  me  to  fly  up,  I  don't  know  why, 
as  no  other  man  could.  Because  I  loved  you,  perhaps." 

"Ah,  indeed!"     He  smiled  disbelief. 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  65 

"For  your  operating,  though,  I'm  honestly  grateful; 
you  must  believe  that  if  you  believe  nothing  else." 

"My  services  were  paid  for,"  said  he.  "I  didn't 
hesitate  to  send  Forsythe  a  bill,  as  I  don't  permit  foolish 
scruples  or  sentimental  nonsense  to  stand  in  my  way  of 
collecting  from  those  who  owe  me  money  and  are  able 
to  pay.  Like  other  people,  I  must  eat." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  uttered  a  soft  laugh. 

"That  pretended  crustiness!"  she  exclaimed,  af- 
fectionately. "It  makes  you  the  old  Bob,  the  Bob  I 
knew.  And  you  couldn't  convince  even  a  child  of  your 
moroseness  with  it." 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  tender  inflection  and 
in  a  winsome  voice,  but  they  started  no  pleased  thump- 
ing of  his  pulses  as  long  ago  they  would  have  done. 
With  an  absent  plucking  of  his  under  lip  he  reflected. 

It  was  as  if  he  regarded  her  from  a  distance,  an 
immense  distance  indeed.  Ten  years  had  passed  since 
their  ways  diverged;  and  time  can  make  great  chasms 
between  lives.  Poor  woman,  she  thought  to  bridge 
the  void  by  a  smile  and  a  gay  word !  As  well  might  she 
hammer  with  her  fists  on  a  granite  clifF  as  to  come 
knocking  at  his  heart  now  with  expectation  of  response. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so,  Robert  ? "  she  questioned, 
anxiously. 

"I  was  merely  thinking." 

"But  your  face  wasn't  pleasant." 

"It  doesn't  really  matter  how  it  looks,  does  it?" 
he  returned,  glancing  about.  He  had  begun  to  recall 
his  affairs.  "Now,  Peg,  I  must  end  our  talk;  I've  a 
long  drive  to  make." 


66  CRYDER 

She  stepped  near  him. 

"Come,  shake  hands  with  me,  Bob,  before  I  go," 
she  said.  "Let  me  feel  the  clasp  of  your  ringers,  let 
me  know  on  leaving  here  that  you  no  longer  hate  me. 
It  isn't  in  your  nature  to  bear  enmity.  You  can  forgive 
those  who  have  injured  you.  My  life's  been  unhappy 
since  we  separated,  if  that's  any  satisfaction  to  you." 

"Very  well;  here's  my  hand." 

"But  I  don't  want  it  while  you  still  distrust  me,  as 
you're  doing." 

His  face  turned  grave.  "Are  you  to  be  trusted,  Peg? 
Give  me  a  straight  answer." 

"I'll  swear  to  it  if  you  wish,  Bob,"  she  answered, 
tremulously. 

"No  oaths  are  needed.  If  the  truth  isn't  in  your 
heart—  But  never  mind;  I  give  you  the  benefit  of 
the  doubt.  Here's  my  hand  for  it,  and,  moreover, 
I  hope  you  find  the  happiness  you've  so  long  been 
seeking." 

"And  you  don't  hold  the  past  against  me?  You 
forgive  me?  All  my  hard  words  when  we  parted,  my 
leaving  you,  everything?" 

"Yes —  "  he  began,  but  was  stopped  by  the  woman 
catching  his  hand  between  both  of  hers  and  holding  it 
fast  while  he  beheld  a  wetness  dimming  her  eyes. 

In  her  breast  she  was  feeling  an  emotion  that  con- 
fused and  exalted  her  like  a  rapture  of  girlhood.  But  on 
a  sudden  she  heard  him  continuing: 

"Yes,  I  forgive  everything  on  one  condition." 

"And  that?" 

"You  come  here  no  more." 


DOCTOR  CRYDER  67 

She  dropped  his  hand  and  stepped  back,  dismayed. 

"But  that's  just  what  I  want  to  do."  she  exclaimed. 

"I'll  not  permit  it." 

"Why  not?" 

Her  violet  eyes,  still  startled  and  dismayed  and  wet 
with  tears,  beseeched  his. 

"I  desire  that  you  remain  away  from  me,"  he  stated. 
"The  forgiveness  you  ask  I  give,  but  it  includes  no 
future  companionship.  Ten  years  ago  it  was  your 
decision  that  our  lives  should  be  sundered  and  now  it  is 
mine  that  they  should  continue  apart.  My  irrevocable 
decision.  Any  friendship  we  might  have  would  be  but  a 
mockery  of  the  past,  painful  with  memories.  Therefore 
you  must  keep  away  from  Kettle.  Now  I  must  go; 
I'm  already  late." 

"Just  the  same  I  want  to  see  you." 

"It  can't  be,"  said  Cryder. 

He  walked  to  his  desk,  opened  a  humidor  and  took 
out  a  cigar,  which  he  set  between  his  teeth.  Biting  off 
the  end,  he  lit  the  weed  and  began  sending  forth  thick 
clouds  of  smoke. 

"It  can't  be,"  he  repeated.  "Well,  I'm  setting  off 
on  my  drive.  Good-bye.  This  is  the  last,  remember." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  dropped  her  veil  and  walked  in  silence 
to  the  door. 

"As  I  entered  I  heard  you  arranging  for  Frances 
Huff  to  come  care  for  her  brother,"  she  said,  facing 
about.  "They're  good  friends  of  mine.  Certainly  I 
may  visit  them." 

"No.  And  I  want  your  promise  that  you  will  stay 
away,  stay  entirely  away  from  this  olace." 


68  CRYDER 

"Bob!" 

"That  and  nothing  less." 

She  meditated.  Cryder  removed  the  cigar  from 
his  mouth,  inspected  its  burning  end,  replaced  it  and 
got  a  firm  grip  on  it  with  his  back  teeth.  Then  he 
directed  his  look  at  the  visitor,  whose  gaze  he  perceived 
rivetted  on  his  countenance. 

"Well,  I'll  not  promise,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"Do  you  mean  you'll  come  against  my  wishes?" 

"Bob,  I'm  going  to  see  you  again — yes,  and  more 
than  once." 

His  face  darkened.  "See  here,  none  of  that,"  he 
warned. 

"I'm  coming  here." 

Cryder  angrily  made  a  step  forward. 

"No,  you're  not,"  he  cried.  "You  keep  away  from 
this  spot,  away  from  the  hospital,  away  from  Kettle 
Creek,  or,  by  heavens,  I'll  make  it  hot  for  you!" 

Mrs.  Forsythe  gave  a  quick,  resentful  toss  of  her  head. 
"Oh,  if  you  put  it  in  that  fashion,  that  settles  k,  of 
course.  Nothing  shall  stop  me  now." 

And  turning  from  him  she  opened  the  door  and  went 
out. 

Cryder  continued  to  stand  glaring  after  her,  feet 
apart  and  head  thrust  forward,  his  cigar  gripped  in  his 
teeth.  But  at  length,  uttering  an  oath,  he  cast  the  cigar 
in  an  ash  tray  and  walked  to  the  window  overlooking 
the  forest.  He  rested  a  hand  on  the  edge  of  a  log-end  of 
the  sawn  casement,  with  fingers  closing  harden  the  wood. 

She  had  come  back.  After  ten  years,  after  ten 
peaceful  years  this  jade  had  returned  to  plague,  him! 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  THE  FOREST 


ON  A  day  a  month  later  Frances  Huff  was  gazing 
from  the  entrance  of  the  hospital  along  the  path  that 
dipped  off  the  ridge  into  the  forest.  Doctor  Cryder, 
who  was  going  fishing  this  afternoon,  had  said  she 
could  go  along.  Two  o'clock  was  the  time  set  for  the 
start,  and  it  was  now  a  quarter  past  the  hour.  If  he 
had  become  involved  in  an  argument  at  the  store,  as 
likely,  and  failed  her,  she  should  never  forgive  him. 
She  cared  nothing  about  the  fishing,  but  on  this  day  of 
intolerable  heat,  the  worst  of  a  scorching  week,  she 
longed  to  plunge  into  the  forest  and  rest  at  some  spot  in 
its  cool  emerald  dusk  where  damp  moss  was  underfoot 
and  the  air  was  full  of  earthy,  woodsy  smells  and  water 
murmured  at  her  side. 

Except  for  a  gray  cloud  lying  on  the  triad  of  peaks 
at  the  head  of  the  valley  the  azure  vault  was  clear,  an 
immensity  of  sky  that  blazed  with  light.  Incessantly 
the  sun  grilled  the  earth.  The  bare  mountain  tops 
east  of  the  hospital  quivered  and  danced.  Ledges,  rock 
outcrops,  boulders,  scattered  stones — all  radiated  heat; 
and  high  up  on  a  slope  a  fall  of  disintegrated  quartz 
glittered  like  hot  diamonds.  Between  the  two  moun- 

69 


7o  CRYDER 

tain  ranges  the  forest  lay  as  if  floating  in  a  lake  of  sun- 
light, unstirring,  soundless,  lethargic,  in  a  swoon  of  heat. 

Frances  turned  about  and  went  again  into  the  ward. 
Besides  her  brother  three  other  patients  now  were 
there  for  treatment:  a  rancher  whose  right  foot  had 
been  pierced  by  the  tine  of  a  hay-fork,  a  bad  case  of 
blood-poisoning;  a  little  girl  six  years  old  from  a  mining 
camp  up  the  river,  languishing  under  an  attack  of 
sleeping  sickness;  and  a  middle-aged  woman,  newly 
arrived,  with  protruding  eyeballs,  sallow  and  emaci- 
ated, whose  hands  continually  twitched  and  clawed, 
undergoing  examination  preparatory  to  an  operation 
for  goitre.  Frances  aided  in  the  nursing  of  all,  having 
charge  when  Miss  Brown,  the  regular  nurse,  was 
asleep,  usually  from  breakfast  time  until  mid-afternoon. 
The  need  of  these  afflicted  persons  made  an  appeal  to 
her  heart  as  Cryder's  diligence  did  to  her  zeal.  He  was 
forever  going  somewhere,  along  with  his  hospital  work; 
on  calls  to  Berger,  to  Smith's  Ford  beyond,  to  Gresham, 
to  the  mining  camp  at  Porcupine  Hill,  to  the  log-drivers' 
camps,  to  ranches,  to  dwellings  on  Kettle  Creek,  to  lone 
cabins  on  more  distant  creeks,  even  to  Maronville.  How 
could  she  herself  remain  idle  and  keep  her  self-respect  ? 

She  had  been  here  a  month.  Coming  up  from 
Maronville  in  the  dusty  battered  automobile  stage  that 
made  trips  into  the  mountains  as  far  as  Porcupine  Hill, 
with  a  drowsing  boot-and-shoe  salesman  and  a  fleshy 
bearded  flockmaster  for  travelling  companions,  she  had 
been  set  down  at  the  camp  at  Tupper's  Bend.  Her 
sensation  during  the  ride  had  been  one  of  overpowering 
loneliness  and  homesickness,  of  being  carried  into  a 


IN  THE  FOREST  71 

remote  region  infinitely  distant  from  everything  she 
knew  and  loved.  The  mountains  oppressed  her  spirit, 
the  serpentine  river  with  white  rushing  water  now  some- 
times near  and  now  sometimes  far  below  fascinated 
and  terrified  her;  the  lack  of  visible  life,  the  vast  spaces, 
the  bigness  and  immobility  of  the  highlands  filled  her 
with  dread.  It  all  had  been  too  much  to  bear:  she  had 
had  to  get  out  her  handkerchief  and  furtively  wipe  away 
the  tears  that  would  come.  And  then  the  hour's  wait 
at  camp  till  young  Nichols  appeared  in  the  doctor's  car! 
That  had  been  the  worst.  The  dark  swift  river  against 
a  black  clifF  sent  her  soul  into  the  depths;  and  then  the 
three  men,  unshaven,  ferocious-looking  creatures  with 
overalls  cut  off  at  their  shoe-tops,  wet  to  the  waist,  and 
dragging  peaveys,  who  had  come  suddenly  upon  her 
from  round  a  clump  of  brush  at  the  water's  edge  where 
she  stood  and  who  uttered  oaths  of  amazement,  gave 
her  an  instant  of  terror;  and  last,  the  sound  of  the 
cook's  spoon  beating  batter  in  a  big  pan  in  the  cook-tent 
furnished  the  culmination  in  her  despondency  and  home- 
sickness. Ah,  that  sound!  Never  again  should  she  hear 
anything  so  full  of  despair  for  her  as  that  brisk  clatter  of 
spoon  in  pan.  But  now  she  was  herself  again  and  happy. 
The  region  had  lost  its  strange  forbidding  aspect;  moun- 
tain and  wood  had  grown  familiar;  and  she  had  settled 
comfortably  into  the  life  and  routine  of  the  hospital. 

Of  its  master  and  lord  she  had  ever-changing  opinions. 
Doctor  Cryder  amazed  her  by  his  learning  and  annoyed 
her  by  his  habit  of  arguing;  she  marvelled  at  his  energy 
and  skill  and  likewise  at  his  self-complacency.  One 
must  admire  his  ability,  but  one  detested  his  blustering 


72  CRYDER 

egotism.  To  Frances  he  was  an  enigma,  a  multi- 
complex  nature,  repelling  and  fascinating — a  Goth  with 
the  brain  of  a  modern.  It  was  a  matter  of  endless 
interest  to  her  to  speculate  on  whether  with  time  the 
big  head  should  subdue  the  rough  passion  and  bridle 
the  hasty  tongue;  whether  the  turbulent  soul  of  him 
should  still  and  mount,  or  to  the  last  continue  in  an 
impotent  self-struggle. 

She  remembered  vividly  her  first  view  of  him. 
Nichols  bringing  her  from  the  river  camp  had  driven 
through  the  hamlet  and  along  the  forest  road  to  the 
ascent  leading  up  the  ridge,  where  the  car  developing 
some  engine  trouble  had  obstinately  stuck.  Finally, 
the  youth  had  led  her  up  the  roadway,  until  they  came 
out  of  the  trees  behind  the  group  of  buildings.  They 
went  forward  past  the  cabins  and  round  to  the  front 
of  the  hospital.  By  the  entrance  of  the  building 
Nichols  checked  her,  pointing  toward  the  solitary  pine 
growing  on  the  ridge. 

"There's  Doc,  so  I'll  go  on  back  and  tinker  the  car," 
he  said,  setting  her  suitcase  down.  " That's  him — 
and  Nell  Boggs'  idiot  kid." 

The  surgeon  sat  on  a  flat  rock  in  the  shadow  of  the 
tree.  His  form  and  face  were  in  profile.  His  hands  lay 
at  rest  on  his  knees,  between  which  stood  a  child,  a  boy 
of  six  or  seven  years,  motionless,  with  an  air  of  mute 
submissiveness,  with  a  dumb  and  helpless  regard  of  the 
man  before  him  profoundly  touching. 

But  the  seated  man  was  gazing  over  the  idiot  child's 
head  out  upon  the  top  of  the  forest.  His  countenance 
was  thoughtful  and  grave,  and  his  head  with  its  tumbled 


IN  THE  FOREST  73 

shock  of  silver-tipped  black  hair  had  in  repose  a  large- 
ness, an  unconscious  air  of  lofty  power  that  approached 
the  majestic.  He  was  oblivious  to  mundane  things. 
In  his  countenance  there  now  was  none  of  the  vehe- 
mency,  the  truculent  humour,  the  animality,  which 
the  lumber  company's  cashier,  Mr.  Williams,  so  insist- 
ently had  drawn  in  his  picture  of  the  man;  but  in  his 
heavy  rugged  face,  furrowed  and  at  the  moment  austere, 
there  glowed  a  flame  as  from  some  deep  recess  that  was 
like  an  inward  illumination.  It  was  as  if  his  mind 
burned  fiercely  in  an  endeavour  to  rive  the  veil  of  life, 
as  if  his  spirit  strove  to  penetrate  the  cruel  and  un- 
explainable  facts  of  existence — this  flattened  brow,  this 
misshapen  cranium  upon  the  little  human  body  between 
his  knees,  this  pitiable  abnormality;  to  find  the  obscure 
purpose  in  dulling  this  brain,  the  gain  and  progression 
in  the  universal  scheme  in  embolizing  this  tiny  stream 
of  force,  the  intention  in  the  Supreme  Mind  in  leaving 
this  soul  sealed  in  sleep. 

All  at  once  the  child  stirred  and,  pressing  closer  to  the 
seated  man,  leaned  against  him  as  if  tired,  letting  his 
head  sink  and  rest  on  the  man's  breast  in  an  action 
instinctive,  infantile,  trustful.  The  surgeon  at  this 
nestling  of  the  small  body  against  his  own  placed  an 
arm  about  the  child  and  held  him  close.  And  thus  they 
remained  on  the  rock,  quite  still — the  idiot  child  and 
the  man  deep  in  thought. 

II 

In  the  ward  Frances  went  to  her  brother's  bedside. 
Jack  HufF  was  reading  a  book  on  forestry  from  Cryder's 


74  CRYDER 

library,  propped  up  on  pillows,  his  face  fresh-shaven 
and  his  pipe  between  his  teeth.  The  kinship  of  brother 
and  sister  was  evident  in  a  facial  similarity,  though 
as  was  natural  the  man's  features  were  cast  in  a  heavier 
mould.  Brow,  nose,  lips,  and  chin — all  were  larger  and 
more  assertive. 

"Well,  he's  nowhere  in  sight,"  she  said,  indignantly. 

"He'll  show  up  after  a  little." 

"If  he  doesn't,  I  shall  certainly  be  miffed.  Raise 
yourself,  Jack;  your  pillows  are  slipping." 

Frances  packed  them  anew  and  her  brother  with  a 
mumbled  word  of  thanks  settled  back  to  his  book  and 
his  pipe. 

Until  this  summer  she  had  seen  scarcely  anything  of 
Jack  since  she  was  a  girl  still  wearing  a  pig-tail.  He 
had  gone  to  college,  and  then  into  the  employ  of  a 
lumber  company  in  Maine,  and  after  that  into  the 
army  upon  America's  entrance  in  the  war,  and  finally 
on  his  discharge  after  the  Armistice  he  had  come  to 
the  Northwest,  to  the  big  lumbering  field,  and  had 
secured  a  place  in  the  Hedley  plant.  They  were  almost 
strangers  to  each  other,  she  had  found;  and  they  ought 
to  be  near  and  dear.  She  intended  they  should  be. 
Jack  was  big  and  fine  and  a  hard  worker,  now  thirty 
years  old  and  matured.  He  not  only  worked  hard  but 
studied  the  lumber  business  as  well,  for  he  was  de- 
termined to  rise.  He  was  going  to  the  top,  he  said. 
Frances  had  not  a  doubt  of  it.  Others  thought  so,  too. 
Once  Mr.  Forsythe  had  told  her  that  Jack  was  a  fellow 
who  would  climb  fast  and  far — and  how  proud  she  had 
been ! 


IN  THE  FOREST  75 

Jack's  eyes  were  glued  on  the  book.  She  perceived 
that  no  comfort  was  to  be  had  from  him  in  her  dis- 
appointment at  the  surgeon's  non-appearance  and 
sighed  angrily.  All  men  were  alike! 

She  looked  around  the  ward.  The  woman  with  a 
goitre  was  rocking  in  a  chair  with  slow,  regular  squeaks; 
the  silent,  sunburnt  rancher,  lying  in  a  bed  with  his  red 
hands  inert  on  the  sheet,  gazed  through  half-closed  lids 
at  the  ceiling;  and  the  little  girl  sat  on  a  stool,  her  curly 
blonde  head  fallen  forward. 

Frances  woke  her. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  sleep,"  said  the  child,  drowsily. 

"You  must  try  hard  to  keep  your  eyes  open;  the 
doctor  wants  that,  you  know." 

"But  I  just  can't." 

"Oh,  but  you  must,  Amy.  How  hot  you  are;  your 
neck  and  face  are  wet  with  perspiration.  Come  along 
to  the  tank  and  have  a  big  cool  drink  and  then  I'll 
sponge  you  off." 

The  child  drank,  and  when  Frances  had  filled  a 
basin,  climbed  upon  her  lap. 

"I'm  awful  tired,"  said  she,  letting  her  head  drop 
against  the  other's  shoulder.  "When  you've  sponged 
me,  won't  you  let  me  sit  here  just  a  little  while  ?  I  wish 
you  was  my  mamma  now." 

Frances  winked  rapidly  to  keep  sudden  tears  from 
escaping.  Then  she  sponged  Amy  and  held  her  for  a 
moment. 

Would  this  small  body  continue  to  weaken,  or  would 
Doctor  Cryder  defeat  and  banish  the  insidious  disease? 
She  prayed  that  the  little  girl  should  have  her  bloom 


76  CRYDER 

of  cheek  and  brightness  of  eyes  again.  She  had  come 
to  love  the  child.  And  from  thinking  of  Amy  she  was 
led  to  think  of  the  others,  the  multitude  of  little  folk, 
defective  or  suffering  or  miserable,  and  prayed  for  them, 
too;  for  the  sick  that  they  might  be  made  well,  for  the 
crippled  to  be  made  whole,  the  dumb  to  speak,  the 
blind  to  be  given  sight — all,  all  the  host  of  children 
in  need  of  help  and  compassion  and  prayers. 

In  the  hallway  sounded  a  man's  tread.  Frances  set 
the  child  upon  her  feet  and  rose,  anticipating  the  sur- 
geon's appearance.  But  next  instant  she  perceived  that 
the  step  was  not  Cryder's,  though  in  its  firm  and 
deliberate  planting  of  boot  it  struck  her  as  familiar. 
Then  appeared  in  the  doorway,  halting  there  for  a  look 
inward,  a  man  she  knew. 

"Why,  this  is  a  pleasant  surprise  for  us!"  she  greeted, 
advancing.  "Jack,  here's  Mr.  Wagner." 

"Mountain  air  agrees  with  you,  Miss  Huff,"  the  visi- 
tor answered.  "You're  looking  well.  Doc  Cryder  must 
give  you  all  you  want  to  eat." 

"Oh,  he  does  that.  And  I've  gained  five  pounds. 
Will  you  come  over  to  the  bed  and  see  Jack?" 

At  the  bedside  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  man- 
ager seated  himself  on  a  chair  brought  by  Frances  and 
deposited  his  hat  at  his  feet.  With  palms  clasping 
his  knees  he  gazed  silently  at  Huff. 

"How's  the  leg?"  he  asked,  at  last. 

"It's  getting  in  shape  fast  now.  Won't  be  so  very 
long  before  it's  right  as  a  trivet." 

"I  see  there's  a  weight  still  tied  to  your  foot." 

"Sand  bag."    Attached  to  a  rope,  it  hung  over  the 


IN  THE  FOREST  77 

end  of  a  board.  "There  were  half  a  dozen  of  them  at 
first,  and  this  last  one  will  be  off  soon.  In  fact,  Doc 
expects  to  strip  off  the  cast  in  a  couple  of  weeks  and  let 
me  hobble  round  on  crutches." 

"That's  good,"  said  Wagner.  He  thoughtfully 
rubbed  his  fleshy  bearded  cheek.  "I'll  be  glad  when 
you  get  back  to  work  again.  Need  you." 

Curt  as  was  the  speech,  it  meant  much  coming  from 
this  man.  Jack  had  been  vastly  surprised  at  Wagner's 
stopping  in  to  see  him,  and  now  at  this  added  evidence 
of  interest  felt  himself  in  a  glow. 

"Well,  I'm  crazy  to  get  back  on  the  job,  you  may  be 
sure,"  he  declared.  "This  lying  here  like  a  mummy  has 
about  finished  me  off.  Why,  I  would  give  ten  dollars 
to  hear  the  saws  and  planers  for  just  three  minutes." 

Wagner  nodded.  He  could  understand  that  feeling. 
Frances,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  even  imagined 
that  he  was  pleased. 

"Don't  doubt  it,"  said  he. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Wagner,  how  everything's  going  at 
the  mill  and  on  the  drives,"  Jack  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  so-so." 

"Where's  Number  One  drive  now?  Must  be  well 
down  the  river." 

"Most  of  it  is  in  the  boom,  in  fact." 

"Good  work.     And  Number  Two?" 

"Just  past  Tupper's  Bend." 

"That's  making  good  progress.  I  suppose  crews 
Three  and  Four  are  coming  down  well  also,  though  the 
water  in  the  river  must  be  low  now.  Which  way  are 
you  headed,  up  or  down?" 


78  CRYDER 

"Up.  Decided  to  turn  in  here  and  see  how  you  were. 
Williams,  of  course,  has  phoned  regularly." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  did,"  said  Jack. 

"I've  been  pretty  busy,  or  I  should  have  come  be- 
fore." 

But  now  Wagner  began  to  glance  about  the  room,  as 
if  his  curiosity  regarding  Huff's  condition  was  satis- 
fied. He  still  sat  with  feet  apart  and  his  hands  resting 
on  his  knees;  his  shoulders  strained  the  seams  of  his 
flannel  shirt,  his  vest  hung  open,  and  a  fine  dew  of 
perspiration  glistened  on  his  forehead.  His  look  trav- 
elled from  the  rancher  in  his  bed  to  the  woman  in 
the  rocking-chair  and  to  the  child  on  the  stool.  He 
noted  the  screen  before  the  woman's  cot,  the  water 
tank,  the  wheeled  chair  in  a  corner,  and  the  weighing 
scales  against  the  wall.  From  an  inventory  of  these 
articles  he  apparently  passed  to  a  consideration  of  the 
wall  itself,  the  logs  of  which  it  was  constructed,  as  if 
estimating  their  lumber  content.  Then  he  remained 
awhile  in  thought. 

Presently  he  looked  at  HufF  again. 

"A  fine  lot  of  timber  here  on  Kettle  Creek,"  said  he. 
"Thick  stand.  White  pine  and  yellow  both;  and  a 
simple  proposition  to  log  out.  You  know,  I  guess,  that 
we  would  like  to  get  it.  Haven't  heard  while  here,  have 
you,  anything  of  these  Kettle  Creekers  being  willing 
to  accept  our  offer  for  their  claims  ? " 

Jack  hoisted  himself  on  an  elbow. 

"I  should  say  not!"  he  answered  "Wagner,  they're 
simply  crazy  when  it  comes  to  naming  a  price.  Doc 
knows  them  like  a  book  and  says  they're  a  herd  of  jack- 


IN  THE  FOREST  79 

asses,  though,  for  that  matter,  he  says  we  belong  in  the 
herd,  too."  Jack  grinned.  "But  Doc's  a  good  deal  of 
a  wild  ass  himself.  Now,  the  fact  is  there  isn't  one 
chance,  not  one,  of  getting  anywhere  with  these  fellows 
in  the  purchase  of  their  claims.  You  know  how  little 
they  love  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company — and  they 
believe  that  its  logging  costs  at  present  are  so  high  that 
it  must  give  in  and  buy  the  timber  here  at  the  prices 
they  fix.  In  other  words,  they  think  they  have  us  by 
the  throat.  And  to  make  the  situation  more  fantastic, 
there's  a  man  named  Pinney  circulating  about  and  try- 
ing to  promote  among  them  a  cooperative  sawmill  to  be 
built  at  Maronville." 

"So  I've  heard,"  said  Wagner. 

Jack  Huff  went  on:  "He  tells  the  settlers  he  can  get 
a  loan  at  a  Maronville  bank  to  start  the  project,  but 
there's  nothing  in  that,  of  course." 

"Did  he  name  the  bank?" 

"No.  But  Cryder  learned  what  bank  he  meant.  One 
day  when  in  town  Doc  made  inquiries — he  wouldn't 
hesitate  to  bull  into  anything  in  which  he  felt  an  interest, 
you  know.  Well,  Emmons  of  the  Citizens'  National 
told  him  Pinney  had  been  boring  him  to  death  with  his 
scheme  and  pleas  for  a  loan.  Emmons  had  listened  to 
the  man,  that  was  as  far  as  it  went.  He  told  the 
would-be  promoter  that  when  he  produced  satisfactory 
security  the  bank  would  consider  making  a  loan  to  his 
mill  company,  as  it  would  to  any  other  business  concern, 
but  good  security  was  the  first  requirement,  and  as  yet 
he  wasn't  able  to  supply  that.  But  Pinney's  so  crazy 
he  thinks  a  loan  is  as  good  as  secured  and  he's  working 


80  CRYDER 

tooth  and  nail  to  get  the  settlers  to  join.  On  the 
strength  of  his  wild  promises  he  has  gained  a  few  more 
signers.  Doc  states  that  he  has  a  dozen  or  so  now.'* 

"Has,  eh?" 

"He's  a  pertinacious  chap." 

"Know  him?" 

"He's  been  up  here;  I've  seen  him — and  I  presume 
you  have.  Crazy  as  they're  made!  He  nearly  talked 
me  to  death  telling  me  about  his  'company.'  He  talks 
to  any  one  who'll  listen  and  those  who  won't,  too. 
His  bug  is  to  be  a  promoter,  a  financier." 

"Yes.  He  talked  to  me,"  said  Wagner,  drily.  "And 
I  listened.  Well,  you  think  there's  no  sentiment  what- 
ever toward  a  sale  to  us  ? " 

"Not  at  a  reasonable  figure." 

"Humph."     Wagner  sat  thinking. 

Jack  reached  for  a  match  and  lighting  his  pipe  puffed 
at  it  for  a  moment,  then  laid  the  briar  on  the  stand. 

"Look  here,  I've  been  considering  this  Kettle  Creek 
matter,"  said  he,  leaning  toward  the  visitor  and  speak- 
ing in  a  lowered  tone,  "and — well,  of  course,  it's  really 
none  of  my  business  and  you  may  think  me  presump- 
tuous to  make  suggestions ' 

"Shoot,"  said  Wagner. 

"I  believe  there's  a  way  to  get  this  timber  at  some- 
where near  your  figure,"  he  asserted,  dropping  his 
voice  to  a  murmur.  "I've  been  studying  the  case. 
This  Pinney,  this  fool  promoter's  talk  of  a  loan,  gave 
me  an  idea — that  is,  if  you  care  to  hear  it — how  you 
might  obtain  this  timber." 

Wagner  became  instantly  alert. 


IN  THE  FOREST  81 

"If  you've  a  suggestion,  let  me  have  it,"  he  said,  with 
a  nod.  "I  want  this  timber  for  our  mill."  He  paused, 
frowning.  At  last  he  remarked,  "They  have  played 
the  dog  in  the  manger  long  enough.  Go  on." 

Jack  leaned  nearer  to  him  and  explained  with  lowered 
voice,  "What  I  thought  of  is  this:  By  the  company 
once  more  making  its  offer  to  these  people  and— 
He  stopped  short,  for  he  remembered  his  sister.  He 
gazed  over  his  shoulder  at  her  with  face  glowering. 
"Don't  stand  there  listening;  go  somewhere  beyond 
hearing,"  he  rapped  out.  "This  isn't  a  matter  for  you 
to  know  of,  by  any  means." 

Frances  was  dumbfounded.  Never  before  had  her 
brother  spoken  to  her  thus.  And  why  now?  How  had 
she  deserved  such  humiliation?  With  scarlet  cheeks 
she  walked  away  from  the  bed  and  out  of  the  ward  into 
the  hall.  It  was  as  if  he  had  unexpectedly  given  her 
stripes  with  a  lash. 

in 

As  she  stood  in  the  hallway  Doctor  Cryder  hove  in 
sight.  He  halted  on  the  threshold. 

"All  ready  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "But  Miss  Brown  isn't  yet 
here." 

"Here  she  comes."  The  nurse  appeared,  adjusting 
her  cambric  cap  and  giving  a  pull  this  way  and  that 
to  her  white  uniform.  He  addressed  her:  "Sometime 
this  afternoon  put  things  in  shape  in  the  operating  room 
for  to-morrow,  as  I'm  going  to  operate  Mrs.  Stiehm. 
Time  to  remove  that  goitre.  Phone  Martin  also;  he 


82  CRYDER 

wants  to  be  on  hand."  He  beckoned  Frances.  "Now 
for  the  trout.  Best  have  something  on  your  head." 
He  himself  wore  an  old  hat  with  a  dozen  trout  flies 
hooked  in  the  ribbon.  "Whose  car  back  yonder?" 

"Mr.  Wagner's,"  Frances  replied.  "He's  inside  with 
Jack." 

"He,  eh?  Not  a  bad  chap,  Wagner,  though  forty 
years  behind  the  times  like  all  the  rest  of  the  lumber- 
men. They  can't  learn  anything  new,  and  don't  want 
to.  They'll  saw  anything  that  will  make  a  two-by- 
four.  Does  Bohall  show  any  higher  temperature  from 
that  foot?  None?  All  right;  I  won't  go  in.  Now  skip 
for  your  hat." 

They  had  stepped  over  the  threshold  into  the  sun- 
shine. At  his  last  words  she  ran  on  before,  round  the 
end  of  the  hospital  and  to  her  cabin,  where  she  snatched 
up  her  tam.  In  a  dresser  drawer  she  rummaged  about  till 
she  found  her  collapsible  drinking  cup,  then  leaned  near 
the  glass  to  inspect  her  face,  rubbed  about  her  eyes  with 
a  powder  rag,  dabbed  her  nose,  turned  her  chin  right 
then  left  for  contemplation,  knelt  and  tucked  in  the 
ends  of  her  boot  laces,  made  sure  she  had  her  handker- 
chief, patted  her  ear  muffs,  and  tripped  forth. 

Cryder  was  waiting  at  the  runabout.  He  had  his 
pipe  between  his  lips  and  with  distended  cheeks  was 
blowing  desperately  to  clear  the  obstructed  tube.  As 
Frances  joined  him  he  ceased. 

"Tight  as  a  drum,"  he  exclaimed,  in  disgust.  "Well, 
I'll  ram  it  open  later.  Hop  in.  You're  delegated  to 
hold  my  rod  and  creel.  Hey,  Nick!  Want  you!" 

Nichols,   who    had    been    lolling    against    Wagner's 


IN  THE  FOREST  83 

automobile  and  gossiping  with  the  driver,  came  for- 
ward. He  sprang  upon  the  running-board  as  Cryder 
started  the  runabout. 

"Battalion's  formed,  Captain,"  he  said,  saluting;  and 
grinned  at  Frances. 

"Want  you  to  fix  a  leak  in  the  school-house  roof.  A 
lot  of  water  went  in  the  last  rain." 

"School  ain't  going  now." 

"That  makes  no  difference.  You  get  some  'shakes' 
somewhere  and  climb  up  on  top  and  fix  the  leak. 
Examine  the  whole  roof,  too,  for  holes.  First  thing  you 
know,  school  will  be  starting  and  the  kids  will  be 
without  proper  shelter,  unless  a  couple  of  public- 
spirited  citizens  like  you  and  me  attend  to  the  matter." 

"'Like  you  and  me',"  Nichols  parroted.  "Like  me, 
you  mean.  I'm  the  only  guy  getting  up  on  the  roof." 

As  the  car  went  off  the  ridge  into  the  forest,  Frances 
asked  him  why  he  abstained  from  wearing  the  gorgeous 
silk  shirt  in  which,  at  the  Hedley  company's  office,  she 
first  beheld  him.  The  shirt  was  "ruinated,"  he  informed 
her.  He  had  tangled  with  a  fellow  at  Berger  on  the 
Fourth  of  July  over  a  girl  during  a  dance  and  when  they 
were  through  the  shirt  was  in  strings.  But  they  took 
the  other  guy  home  on  straw  in  a  wagon-bed,  yes, 
indeedy. 

Nick  dropped  off  the  running-board  at  his  mother's 
house.  Cryder  drove  ahead  to  another  cabin,  stopping 
when  he  saw  a  woman  seated  on  the  doorsill,  who  was 
sewing  a  patch  in  a  small  pair  of  pants.  At  her  feet 
sat  the  idiot  boy  in  his  shirt. 

"Nell,  come  here,"  said  the  surgeon. 


84  CRYDER 

The  woman  rose  and  came  forward  slowly,  clutching 
in  her  two  hands  the  youngster's  pants.  Her  pink- 
checked  gingham  dress,  limp,  faded,  and  soiled,  was  open 
at  the  neck,  showing  the  plump  swell  of  her  breast.  About 
her  was  an  air  of  vacuous  complacency  akin  to  stupid- 
ity. Her  figure  was  growing  soft  and  heavy  with  fat. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  stopping  near  the 
automobile. 

"Well,  have  you  decided  about  the  kid  as  I  advise?*' 
Cryder  rejoined. 

The  woman's  round,  dull  face  flushed. 

"I  won't  do  it,"  she  declared,  and  she  began  to  gaze 
at  the  ground. 

"Here,  Nell,  look  up  at  me." 

"I  won't." 

"Yes,  you  will  when  I  tell  you  to." 

"I  won't,  I  won't." 

Cryder  hitched  impatiently  in  his  seat. 

"Now  see  here;  I've  talked  to  you  a  dozen  times 
about  this,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  there's  no  need  to 
argue  with  you  again.  You  know  Roscoe  will  be  better 
off  in  a  state  institution,  will  have  better  care,  will 
get- 

"You  shan't  take  him  away  from  me,  Doc." 

"He'll  always  be  a  burden  and  an  expense  and  a 
worry,"  the  surgeon  continued. 

"I'm  goin'  to  keep  him  just  the  same." 

"Nell,  don't  be  obstinate.  Try  to  look  at  the  matter 
sensibly.  If  there  were  the  least  chance  of  his  develop- 
ing mentally  I'd  not  say  a  word  of  sending  him  off, 
but  there  isn't.  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  There- 


IN  THE  FOREST  85 

fore,  the  right  thing  to  do  is  to  put  him  in  the  place  the 
state  has  provided  for  defectives  like  him,  where  there 
are  attendants  who  understand  their  care  and  adequate 
facilities  for  keeping  them  in  comfort.  It  isn't  as  if 
he  knew  about  it.  He  knows  nothing  and  never  will. 
As  it  is  now,  when  you  go  off  to  work  at  Berger  or  else- 
where and  he's  left  with  a  neighbour  he's  neglected.  I 
know  that  for  a  fact.  Maybe,  too,  he's  abused,  though 
I  can't  be  positive  in  that  particular.  Even  when 
you're  here,  he  wanders  off.  Good  lord,  yes.  Tell  me, 
how  many  times  have  you  had  Kettle  all  excited  and 
beating  the  woods  to  find  him?" 

"Not  more'n  two  or  three." 

"Fiddlesticks!     Not  less  than  twenty  or  thirty." 

"I  don't  care  if  I  have." 

"You'd  better." 

"I  won't  any  such  thing." 

Her  face  lifted  and  a  vindictive  gleam  flashed  from 
her  eyes. 

"You  must  consider  this  thing  in  the  proper  light," 
Cryder  went  on,  insistently.  "I  could  have  had  the 
boy  taken  long  ago  before  the  county  medical  examiners 
if  I  had  wanted  to,  whether  you  agreed  or  not.  But 
I  haven't,  for  I  wish  your  consent  to  the  action.  I'm 
going  to  induce  you  to " 

A  surge  of  murky  blood  suddenly  darkened  the 
woman's  quivering  cheeks. 

"I  never  will,  Doc  Cryder,  I  never  will,"  she  cried, 
"and  I  wish  you'd  stop  plaguin'  me  about  it!" 

"Now,  now,  Nell.  Keep  your  hair  on.  Don't  fly 
off  the  handle  and  go  to  yelling." 


86  CRYDER 

The  woman  flung  the  pants  on  the  ground  and  stamped 
her  foot  wildly. 

"I  will,  I  will  yell  every  time  you  come  around! 
You  can't  stop  me!"  Her  voice  rose  in  shrill  crescendo. 
"You  want  to  steal  my  baby  Roscoe  and  take  him 
away — and  I  know  why!  You  want  to  carry  him  off 
where  you  doctors  can  cut  into  his  head  and  look  inside 
and  nobody  know!  You  want  to  kill  him;  you  want  to 
'sect  his  brains!  Everyone  says  so!  And  I  won't  let 
you!  You  shan't  have  him!  I  don't  care  if  he  is  an 
idjet!  He's  my  baby;  I  love  him — and  don't  you  dare 
come  here  again  or  touch  him,  for  I've  got  a  gun!  I'll 
kill  you!  I'll  shoot  your  damned  head  off,  that's  what 
I'll  do!  I'll  murder— I'll " 

"All  right,  Nell.     I  won't  bother  you  any  more." 

"You'd  better  not!  I'll  grab  my  gun  and  fix  you! 
You'll  have  a  hole  in  you  bigger'n  a  hat !  You  great  big 
murderin' — you  big — big  thief!" 

Horror  ran  in  Frances's  veins  as  the  woman,  inflamed 
of  face  and  wild-eyed,  mouthed  her  frenzied  words  and 
came  to  a  sputtering  end.  The  girl  could  not  under- 
stand how  the  surgeon  could  remain  so  calm,  so  un- 
perturbed, under  the  blazing  passion  directed  at  his 
head.  He  said  nothing  more,  sitting  quiet,  regarding 
Nell  Boggs  with  a  speculative  regard. 

On  a  sudden  her  fury  ceased.  When  she  spoke  her 
peevish  but  subdued  tone  was  almost  comical. 

"Ain't  I  got  enough  trouble,  Doc,  without  you 
throwin'  me  into  tantrums?"  she  said.  "Makin'  me 
fly  to  pieces  and  squeal?" 

"So  you're  going  to  shoot  me,  eh?" 


IN  THE  FOREST  87 

The  woman's  head  went  down  in  shame. 

"You  know  I  ain't  got  a  gun,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  I  guess  there's  no  use  at  this  time  to  try 
to  prevail  upon  you  about  the  kid.  We'll  let  the 
matter  rest  for  awhile.  But  you  be  thinking  about 
it." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  me,  Doc." 

"You  must  come  to  it  about  Roscoe." 

"He's  my  little  baby  boy  and  I  ain't  never  goin*  to 
let  him  go  'way  from  me  and  not  feel  him  in  my  arms 
no  more."  She  raised  a  hand  and  rubbed  her  nose  and 
eyes,  then  with  a  sudden  exultation  she  exclaimed: 
"And  he's  growin'  real  bright.  Yesterday  he  said 
something  that  sounded  just  like  'ma,'  which  shows 
he's  beginnin*  to  talk  and  know  his  mother  and  not 
be  as  dumb  as  he  was;  and  besides  that,  he  hasn't 
been  lost  for  almost  two  weeks  now,  Doc,  and  he's 
becomin'  stronger  except  for  his  bowels  what  is  startin' 
to- 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,  Nell,"  Cryder  cut  in,  checking 
her  before  she  should  ramble  into  embarrassing  details. 
"Give  him  a  dose  of  castor  oil;  tablespoonful  will  set 
him  right.  Now  that's  all  for  to-day."  He  turned 
the  starter.  "Gid-dap,  old  boat;  got  to  be  sailing 
along." 

The  car  sped  from  the  cabin  up  the  street  into  the 
forest  road  leading  northward.  Among  the  pines  it 
flew,  over  a  log  bridge  spanning  the  creek,  and  once 
more  on  among  the  stately  tree-trunks,  now  swinging 
near  to  the  brawling  stream,  now  spinning  away  from 
its  mossy  bank. 


88  CRYDER 

"Won't  take  us  long  till  we're  in  the  upper  valley," 
Cryder  assured  his  companion. 

IV 

Kettle  Creek  had  its  source  in  the  high  gorges  and 
snowbanks  of  the  Three  Sisters,  formed  of  innumerable 
rills  and  brooks  that  united  to  rush  down  a  canyon 
breaking  forth  from  the  mountains'  pocket.  It  brawled 
out  of  this  into  the  forest,  where  its  course  if  less  rapid 
was  still  noisy;  fuming  about  boulders  and  quarrelling 
with  logs,  gurgling  under  tangles  of  underbrush,  splash- 
ing over  stones,  chuckling  under  tree-roots,  and  at  times 
falling  with  a  musical  plunk-plunk  into  shadowed  pools. 

As  the  car  travelled  northward,  one  after  another  of 
the  cabins  along  the  road  emerged  to  view  for  a  moment 
and  then  vanished  again  among  the  trees.  Crude  and 
primitive  habitations  they  were,  dwarfed  by  the  tower- 
ing pines,  and  to  Frances  possessing  an  aspect  dull, 
sombre,  and  forlorn.  The  road  at  last  became  only  a 
mere  track;  the  automobile  engine  was  steaming. 
Cryder  brought  the  car  to  a  stop  in  the  lee  of  a  huge 
rock. 

"We  must  walk  now,"  said  he. 

They  alighted  and  went  forward  through  thinning 
timber.  Presently  they  came  out  from  the  trees  upon 
a  hillside,  which  they  ascended  until  Frances  thought 
her  lungs  should  burst.  A  last  effort  took  her  to  the 
top  of  the  slope. 

"Phew!"  said  she,  tumbling  upon  the  canvas  coat 
Cryder  flung  down  for  her.  She  gasped  with  mouth 
wide  open.  "Phew,  phew!" 


IN  THE  FOREST  89 

"  But  you  wanted  a  view,"  said  he. 

"If  that's  a  pun,  it's  atrocious,"  she  panted.  "But 
this  is  worth  coming  to  see!" 

They  were  on  the  base  of  the  most  eastern  of  the 
Three  Sisters.  At  their  right  lay  the  dark  gorge  whence 
issued  Kettle  Creek,  with  the  wild  rocky  mountain 
slopes  about  it  sweeping  up  to  the  three  lofty  peaks, 
now  half-hidden  by  cloud.  In  the  northeast  there 
stood  a  range  of  mighty  mountains.  Before  the  eye 
spread  the  narrow  valley  up  which  Frances  and  Cryder 
had  come,  filled  with  forest  between  its  parallel  ram- 
parts; a  trench  of  green  extending  southward  to  the 
greater  valley  of  the  Furness  River,  far  off  and  misty 
blue  in  the  sunshine.  So  solid  seemed  that  floor  of  tree- 
tops  one  might  have  walked  down  it  from  end  to  end. 

Frances  soon  regained  her  breath.  She  followed  her 
companion  down  a  zigzagging  path  into  the  canyon 
until  they  reached  the  creek.  There  Cryder  began 
joining  the  sections  of  his  fishing-rod,  meanwhile  giving 
her  a  dissertation  upon  the  geology  of  these  particular 
mountains.  She  held  up  a  protesting  hand. 

"Enough,"  she  cried.  "Their  looks  are  what  I'm 
interested  in,  not  their  insides." 

"Knowledge  is  good  for  you,  young  lady,"  said  he. 
"If  women  had  a  little  more  substantial  stuff  in  their 
heads,  there  wouldn't  be  so  much  powdering  of  noses 
and  vamping  other  women's  husbands  and  getting  their 
names  in  the  scandal  sheets." 

"The  idea!  I  never  vamped  any  one's  husband  or 
had  my  name  in  a  scandal  sheet,''  she  announced, 
indignantly. 


9o  CRYDER 

"I  was  speaking  generally." 

"You  were  looking  straight  at  me." 

"Never  knew  it  to  fail  that  a  woman  applied  person- 
ally every  broad  statement  about  her  sex,"  Cryder  re- 
marked. "The  trouble  with  you  ladies,  of  course,  is 
that  your  macrocosm  is  too  subjective." 

"Whatever  that  means." 

"Whatever  that  means,  yes.  I'll  leave  you  to  find 
out." 

"I  think  you  think  you  know  a  great  deal  about 
women,"  Frances  said,  testily.  "Whereas  you  don't. 
Now  suppose  you  go  to  fishing  so  that  we'll  move 
toward  the  car.  The  clouds  up  yonder  are  growing 
darker  and  I  don't  want  to  be  rained  on." 

Cryder  glanced  at  the  peaks.  "No  rain  there,"  said 
he. 

"I  suppose  you  know  everything  about  the  weather 
along  with  the  rest." 

"Oh,  yes.  Everything  about  weather,  and  every- 
thing about  women,  and  everything  about  everything." 

Frances  gazed  at  him  helplessly.  He  returned  her 
look  with  the  large  calm  of  an  elephant.  One  could 
not  pierce  his  hide  of  egotism  with  pins,  she  thought; 
one  needed  a  whale  lance. 

"Now  for  fish,"  he  said,  making  a  cast.  "Come 
along;  we  won't  dawdle." 

Nor  did  they  dawdle.  Frances,  fearing  to  be  lost  if 
she  missed  sight  of  him,  clambered  over  boulders  and 
slabs  until  they  were  out  of  the  canyon  and  in  the  forest. 
Here  she  must  crawl  over  spiny,  fallen  jack-pines  and 
wriggle  through  thickets.  She  had  a  feeling  that  they 


IN  THE  FOREST  91 

were  going  deeper  and  deeper  into  an  unknown  jungle 
that  was  not  Kettle  Creek  forest  at  all.  In  their  twist- 
ings  she  lost  all  sense  of  direction.  The  steady  rush  of 
the  stream  made  her  shiver,  and  she  expected  every 
instant  to  step  on  a  snake  or  meet  an  open-mouthed 
beast.  She  did  not  like  fishing;  she  wished  Doctor 
Cryder  would  take  her  home.  Twice  he  had  gone 
entirely  out  of  sight  so  that  she  had  had  to  shout 
frantically  for  him  to  wait,  at  which  he  had  declared 
he  had  been  there  close  at  hand  all  the  while.  He 
plowed  ahead  and  let  her  come  along  as  best  she 
could,  never  helping  her  unhook  brambles  or  climb 
over  difficult  places.  Crawling  on  hands  and  knees 
through  a  tangle  of  underbrush,  she  had  got  two  terrible 
scratches  on  one  of  her  wrists;  and  in  edging  over  a 
sloping  rock  after  him  she  had  slipped,  slid,  emitted 
a  despairing  shriek  and  gone  into  the  stream  expecting 
to  drown,  but  the  water  came  only  to  her  shoe  tops. 
"In,  are  you?"  the  surgeon  had  said.  "I  must  get  you 
some  boots  for  next  time."  And  he  had  let  her  wade 
out  alone.  By  gracious,  there  would  be  no  next  time! 

At  the  end  of  hours,  as  it  seemed  to  Frances,  they 
rested.  She  sat  on  a  log  by  the  creek  and  he,  reclining 
on  the  ground,  smoked  his  pipe. 

"Enjoying  it?"  he  queried. 

"Where's  the  car?"  asked  she. 

"A  mile  or  two  back." 

"What!    We've  passed  it?" 

"If  you're  tired,  you  can  wait  here  while  I " 

"No,  I'll  go  along  with  you." 

"All  right,"  said  he,  lazily.     "Scratched  up  a  bit,  I 


92  CRYDER 

see.  I'll  dab  those  marks  with  iodine  when  we  reach 
home."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "Five-thirty.  Lots 
of  time  yet,  and  the  fishing  just  growing  good.  Usually 
I  stay  till  dark."  Frances's  heart  sank.  "But  I 
won't  to-day,"  he  concluded. 

"It's  best  to  leave  a  few  for  your  next  excursion," 
she  responded  in  a  languid  tone. 

Her  muscles  were  stiff,  the  soles  of  her  feet  felt  as  if 
they  were  blistered,  she  was  hungry,  her  shoulders 
ached.  With  half-shut  eyes  she  watched  the  dance  of 
a  cloud  of  gnats  above  the  stream  and  listened  to  the 
babble  of  the  water  among  the  stones.  This  rest  was 
like  a  blessing  to  her  knees  and  back. 

Ten  minutes  passed  without  either  speaking. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  choose  Kettle  Creek  for  a 
home?"  she  asked,  at  last. 

He  explained.  At  the  time  he  came  here  he  was 
roving  through  the  mountains  on  a  summer's  outing. 
For  three  years  previous  he  had  lived  in  a  small  coal- 
mining town  on  the  Union  Pacific  Railway,  in  Wyom- 
ing, where  he  was  physician  for  the  coal  company.  He 
then  had  been  not  long  in  practice,  for  after  his  medical 
course  was  finished  he  had  spent  considerable  time  in 
hospitals  as  an  interne  and  topped  off  with  a  year  in 
Vienna.  On  his  return  to  this  country  he  had  tried 
practice  in  a  city,  but  made  no  go  of  it.  He  was  in  debt 
and  pretty  desperate.  Finally,  he  got  the  place  in  the 
coal  camp  through  the  assistance  pf  a  surgeon  friend 
in  New  York,  and  it  was  not  a  bad  sort  of  job  for  the 
time  being.  It  gave  him  an  all-around  general  practice, 
medical  and  surgical,  just  what  he  needed  then,  and  he 


IN  THE  FOREST  93 

had  the  horde  of  Slavs  and  Polaks  who  worked  in  the 
pits  on  his  roll;  dosed  and  patched  hundreds  of  them  a 
month  and  received  a  dollar  per  man  per  call  from  the 
company,  whether  the  case  was  cramps,  typhoid,  ampu- 
tating a  leg,  or  anything  else.  He  had  had  to  work  like 
a  Trojan,  but  he  made  money  and  benefitted  tremen- 
dously by  the  rough-and-ready  professional  experience. 
A  rather  dreary  hole  to  live  in,  yes.  Certain  painful 
circumstances  not  necessary  to  relate  had  caused  him 
finally  to  terminate  his  contract  with  the  coal  company 
and  to  seek  a  new  location. 

But  before  choosing  another  place  for  his  labours 
he  wanted  a  rest,  a  three  or  four  months'  vacation 
away  from  people.  He  had  not  had  a  free  day  in  the 
whole  three  years  he  had  dwelt  in  the  shadow  of  the 
coal  tipples.  Besides,  his  soul  was  nearly  withered. 
And  so  he  had  come  to  the  mountains  of  Idaho,  camp- 
ing up  through  them,  and  eventually  wandered  here  to 
Kettle  Creek,  where  a  prospector  had  told  him  the 
fishing  was  excellent. 

It  happened  that  there  was  sickness  among  the  people 
when  he  arrived,  so  he  had  taken  them  in  charge, 
straightened  them  out  and  set  them  on  their  feet.  A 
notion  to  live  here  seized  him  and  here  he  was. 

"But  why  remain?"  Frances  asked.  "You  could 
accomplish  much  more  elsewhere,  in  some  place  com- 
mensurate with  your  abilities." 

The  surgeon  puffed  his  pipe  thoughtfully. 

"That  depends,"  he  answered. 

"On  what?" 

"On  what  you  mean  by  accomplishment.     Do  you 


94  CRYDER 

mean  that  I  could  make  more  money?  Here  I  have 
sufficient  for  my  wants.  Do  you  refer  to  reputation? 
I'm  not  unknown  in  my  profession.  Or  do  you  mean  I 
should  accomplish  more  good?" 

"That,  yes." 

"How?" 

"Your  skill  would  be  employed  for  the  benefit  of 
educated  people  and  so  in  consequence  your  services 
would  be  more  valuable  to  society." 

Cryder  pondered.  Then  he  hoisted  himself  to  his 
feet  and  made  a  sweeping  gesture. 

"What  of  those  here?"  he  demanded.  "I'll  grant 
at  once  that  educated  people  are  intrinsically  of  more 
worth  than  illiterate  folk;  I  operate  them,  too,  when  I'm 
in  the  East  winters,  but  that's  beside  the  point.  I 
can't  admit  the  logic  of  your  inference.  Among  the 
ignorant,  among  the  poor,  among  such  people  as  live 
here  on  Kettle  Creek  and  in  the  region  about  there 
exists  the  greatest  need.  Every  city  has  an  army  of 
medical  men  and  even  every  hamlet  has  its  quota,  but 
who  would  the  poor  devils  in  this  place  and  on  far 
ranches  up  the  Furness  and  in  isolated  cabins  back  in 
the  hills,  so  far  away  from  Maronville,  have  without 
me?" 

He  stared  past  her,  as  if  seeing  the  remote  habitations 
of  which  he  spoke. 

"I  know  these  people — the  men,  the  women,  the 
children,  and  the  babes,"  he  went  on.  "I  know  them 
inside  and  out,  their  mental  bents  as  well  as  their  physi- 
cal natures,  their  traits  as  well  as  their  tongues.  I  know 
those  who  are  healthy  and  those  who  are  ailing,  those 


IN  THE  FOREST  95 

decent  and  those  sinning,  the  virtuous  and  the  vicious. 
I  know  them  all.  In  each  I  can  put  my  finger  on  the 
person's  particular  strength  and  particular  weakness. 
How  much  that  is  worth!  I  can  cure  where  another 
would  fail,  for  the  giving  of  pills  and  the  tying  of  sore 
thumbs  isn't  the  whole  of  it:  I  administer  as  well  to 
their  minds  when  sick,  ay,  and  to  their  souls.  I  cross 
thresholds  to  give  good  counsel  and  to  end  quarrels 
and  give  courage  and  fresh  hope  to  broken  men  and 
despairing  women.  Yes,  I  do  that,  have  done  it  times 
without  number." 

For  a  little  his  brows  knit  in  thought.  Frances  sat 
with  elbows  planted  on  knees  and  chin  on  fists,  her  eyes 
rivetted  on  Cryder's  face. 

"They  may  kick  and  grumble  and  rebel;  I  care  noth- 
ing for  that,"  said  he.  "Nothing  at  all.  I  go  straight 
ahead,  for  however  much  they  may  mutter  or  sneer 
or  procrastinate  or  curse  they  need  me  and  they're 
aware  of  it.  When  sick,  they  call  me.  When  in 
trouble,  they  want  me.  Whatever  they  may  pretend 
or  say,  still  in  their  hearts  they  trust  me,  in  their  poor 
impoverished  souls  they  know  me  not  only  as  a  phy- 
sician but  for  a  friend.  That's  the  place  I've  come  to 
fill  in  this  region.  How,  then,  can  it  be  said  my  service 
here  isn't  the  equal  of  any  ?  Where  indeed  among  your 
skyscrapers  could  I  render  a  service  as  great  or  as 
necessary?  Well,  nowhere.  So  you  see  my  proper  lo- 
cation is  here  on  Kettle  Creek  and  nowhere  else." 

"But  if  the  Kettle  Creekers  sell  their  claims  and  go?" 
she  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"They  won't  sell." 


96  CRYDER 

"But  there  is/the  possibility." 

He  shook  his  head.  "Not  even  that.  I  tell  you  I 
know  the  people  here  and  I  also  know  the  Hedley 
Lumber  Company.  They  hate  each  other.  There  will 
be  no  sale." 

"Then  the  settlers  will  just  remain  here." 

"Yes." 

"And  you,  too." 

"Yes." 

"All  your  life?" 

"All  the  rest  of  my  life,  such  is  my  intention." 

Frances  rose  from  the  log  with  eyes  shining  and  with 
arms  spread  wide.  Egotist  though  the  man  might  be, 
the  greatness  of  his  spirit  transcended  his  egotism. 

"You  have  shown  me  something  big  and  splendid," 
she  exclaimed.  "I  thought  it  was  lost  in  men." 


A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  as  they  were  talking,  Fran- 
ces glanced  overhead  and  said,  "Should  we  not  start 
home?  Dusk  is  near." 

"Dusk?  Oh,  no.  Can't  be.  The  sun  doesn't  set  for 
an  hour  yet,"  he  rejoined. 

"But  the  wood  is  growing  dark." 

Cryder,  who  had  seated  himself  on  the  log  beside  her 
to  converse,  looked  about  through  the  boughs  and 
jumped  to  his  feet. 

"We're  in  for  a  shower,"  said  he. 

The  slanting  shafts  of  sunshine  had  paled,  died.  The 
virescent  gloom  increased  until  among  the  trees  it 
was  twilight,  as  if  a  giant  hand  had  been  laid  over  the 


IN  THE  FOREST  97 

forest.  Cryder  hastily  removed  leader  and  reel  and 
unjointed  his  rod.  Then  they  pushed  through  the 
underbrush  by  the  creek  and  struck  eastward  to  the 
road,  up  which  they  hastened.  A  chill  breath  stole 
through  the  wood.  Overhead  sounded  a  mutter  of 
thunder  and  a  sighing  of  treetops.  The  dusk  thickened. 

"One  thing  this  proves,"  Frances  panted.  "You 
don't  know  everything  about  weather,  at  least." 

"It  won't  amount  to  much — a  small  sprinkle,  not  a 
real  rain." 

"Just  the  same,  it's  getting  to  be  like  night." 

"Rather  dim,  for  a  fact." 

"We're  going  to  be  soaked,  I  know." 

"I  hope  not." 

They  were  walking  fast.  At  a  sharp  crack  of  thunder 
they  went  faster.  In  ten  minutes  Frances  was  gasping 
and  Cryder  breathing  hard,  for  the  valley  here  had  a 
marked  ascent.  A  succession  of  dazzling  flashes  and 
thunder  claps  brought  the  surgeon  and  his  companion 
to  a  halt.  The  last  glimmer  of  light  was  swallowed  up 
in  darkness  in  which  the  road  was  lost. 

They  listened.  To  their  ears  came  a  murmur  like 
that  of  a  multitude  of  pigmies  rushing  forward  between 
the  ramparts  of  the  valley,  a  steady  drumming  like  the 
sound  of  innumerable  tiny  feet  racing  on  the  roof  of  the 
forest. 

"Rain,  sure  enough!"  Cryder  exclaimed. 

He  drew  Frances  from  the  road  toward  a  black  blot 
in  the  gloom,  which  at  a  lightning  flare  revealed  itself 
as  a  heavy-boughed  spruce.  In  among  its  flat,  low- 
hanging  branches  he  forced  a  passage  until  he  and  Fran- 


98  CRYDER 

ces  stood  close  against  the  bole  of  the  tree.  He  placed 
rod  and  creel  on  the  ground  and  removing  his  canvas 
coat  wrapped  it  about  her  head  and  shoulders. 

"Can't  see  a  thing  in  this  darkness,"  said  she.  And 
then,  "My  heavens,  I  saw  that!" 

The  world  seemed  split  by  a  blinding  flash  and  a 
crashing  detonation  at  that  instant,  and  while  their 
ears  still  rang  there  came  a  roar  of  wind  and  water  that 
further  deafened  them. 

Frances  pressed  closer  to  the  surgeon,  who  flung  an 
arm  protectingly  about  her  shoulders  and  held  her  tight 
against  his  breast  as  the  storm  broke. 

"I'm  horribly  afraid  of  thunder,"  she  said,  in  a 
muffled  voice. 

"  But  the  lightning  is  the  business  end  of  the  show," 
he  answered.  "That  last  bolt  struck  close." 

"And  this  isn't  just  a  sprinkle." 

"Sprinkle!  It's  a  cloud-burst.  Here's  the  big 
splash  now."  He  tightened  his  hold. 

Rain  fell  in  a  deluge.  It  made  a  steady  thunder  on 
forest  and  on  earth.  Water  gushed  through  the  boughs 
of  the  spruce  and  soaked  Cryder  to  the  skin,  but  his 
coat  and  his  form  saved  Frances  from  the  full  force  of 
the  flood. 

Frances,  with  her  head  covered,  heard  only  a 
smothered  roar  and  close  by  her  ear  the  firm  and  regular 
beat  of  Cryder 's  heart  within  its  chamber,  like  the 
measured  utterance  of  a  tutelary  friend  indifferent  to 
nature's  fury  and  superior  to  fear.  Its  low,  calm  talk 
reassured  her.  Her  head  came  just  under  her  com- 
panion's chin  and  her  cheek  rested  against  the  warm 


IN  THE  FOREST  99 

surface  of  his  flannel  shirt.  She  had  a  momentary 
sensation  of  being  a  child  again.  She  noted  the  rise  and 
fall  of  his  breast  with  each  respiration;  she  felt  the 
pressure  of  his  arm  that  kept  her  safe.  In  her  ear  his 
heart  continued  to  murmur  its  soothing  speech. 

And  all  at  once  there  welled  up  in  her  bosom  a 
strange,  confused  emotion  of  satisfaction  and  tenderness 
and  desire  and  pain  which  left  her  weak  and  trembling. 
A  barrier  between  them  seemed  to  have  fallen  away. 
In  vain  she  strove  to  quiet  her  throbbing  blood  and 
muddled  thoughts,  and  she  could  not  draw  back  from 
him,  for  his  arm  held  her  fast.  But  did  she  wish  to 
do  so?  At  the  question  her  heart  beat  tumultuously 
and  her  cheeks  grew  hot  from  shame  and  from  longing. 
At  this  moment  she  wanted,  yes,  his  arm  about  her  and 
the  shelter  of  his  breast. 

Naturally,  Cryder  knew  naught  of  this.  He  was 
peering  before  him,  but  during  the  periods  of  profound 
darkness  he  could  see  nothing  and  at  lightning  flashes 
perceived  only  the  swaying,  tossing  branches  lashed  by 
wind  and  rain.  Through  the  incessant  drum-roll  of 
sound  made  by  falling  water  he  began  to  distinguish 
another  and  higher-keyed  note,  like  that  of  an  organ 
pipe  of  tremendous  volume.  It  was  wind  in  the  tree- 
tops.  A  million  boughs  and  branches  and  tree-trunks 
were  transformed  to  harps.  It  was  the  storm  song  of 
the  wood,  the  mighty  diapason  of  the  forest. 

As  suddenly  as  the  storm  came  it  passed.  The  rain 
diminished  and  after  a  time  altogether  ceased,  with  the 
wind  sinking  and  a  pale  glow  thinning  the  darkness. 
The  light  steadily  increased.  Cryder  and  Frances  saw 


ioo  CRYDER 

runnels  and  rivulets  streaming  down  all  the  gutters  of 
the  wood  as  they  left  their  spruce  tree  and  went  once 
more  along  the  road.  Trees  were  a-drip,  and  at  last, 
when  the  sun  shot  its  beams  into  the  timber,  bough  and 
trunk  were  flashing  with  gems.  A  wet,  heavy  smell 
of  bark  and  pine  needles  and  earth  hung  in  the  air. 
Down  the  valley  the  storm  banged  and  crashed  and 
rumbled  on  its  course,  ever  more  distant  and  ever  more 
dwarfed  as  it  travelled  away. 

They  reached  the  car.  Cryder  said  something  un- 
complimentary of  himself,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  turn 
the  cushions. 

"Wet  cushions  are  all  the  better,"  Frances  said, 
gayly.  "We're  wet  ourselves." 

She  spoke  like  one  for  whom  there  were  no  dis- 
comforts; her  eyes  had  a  sparkle  and  her  chin  a  pro- 
vocative tilt.  With  the  cessation  of  rain  and  thunder 
and  the  breaking  forth  of  the  sun  her  spirits  had  taken 
a  quick  rebound.  She  felt  the  thrill  of  the  adventure, 
and  a  rapture  of  excitement  yet  enveloped  her  mind. 

Cryder  looked  at  her. 

"Never  saw  you  so  lively,"  said  he.  "I'll  say  you 
make  a  hit  with  me,  coming  out  of  this  muss  so  bright 
and  shining.  Up  you  go."  He  followed  to  the  seat. 
"And  now  for  home  and  hearth  and  ham  and  eggs." 

Half  an  hour  later  he  brought  the  car  to  rest  behind 
the  hospital,  and  gave  Frances  a  hand  to  alight.  While 
she  was  yet  standing  on  the  running-board,  she  pointed 
toward  the  north. 

"Look  there.     How  beautiful!" 

The  mountain  ridges  enclosing  the  valley,  the  peaks 


IN  THE  FOREST  101 

in  the  north,  the  Three  Sisters,  and  the  great  range  of 
the  Bitter  Roots  in  the  northeast  beyond  were  mellowed 
by  the  sunset.  The  forest  lay  under  a  sea  of  indigo 
haze.  The  mountain  heights  seemed  melting — crag, 
scarp,  and  canyon  fusing  in  planes  of  gold  and  magenta 
and  purple  so  that  the  peaks  were  altered,  new,  trans- 
figured. Above  them  floated  a  great  billowy  cloud 
shot  with  bands  of  crimson  flame,  like  another  world 
in  the  building. 

And  even  as  they  looked  the  fire  on  the  cloud  changed 
and  grew  sombre  and  became  a  fierce  and  murky  red, 
casting  a  furnace  glow  on  the  valley  underneath. 

"Look,  look!"  Frances  cried.  "It's  like  a  forest 
burning!" 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  EGOTIST 


THE  little  world  centring  in  the  hospital  moved  for- 
ward with  the  summer  in  a  slow  progression  marked  by 
the  arrival  or  departure  of  patients.  One  came, 
presently  another  departed,  leaving  a  small  vacuum 
previously  filled  by  his  personality.  But  the  life 
flowed  on  with  the  days. 

The  place  in  this  life  occupied  by  Doctor  Cryder — 
the  man  stripped  of  idiosyncrasies  and  egotism,  his 
work  and  spirit — had  a  profound  interest  for  Frances. 
Vivid  recollections  of  him  there  were  that  should  always 
strike  lightning-like  across  her  memory — pictures 
deep-etched  on  her  brain  never  to  be  dulled;  and  utter- 
ances, laconic  and  great,  that  should  ring  always  in  her 
mind.  But  against  these  were,  alas!  recurring  flashes 
of  his  crudeness,  his  fits  of  temper,  his  obstinacy  and 
bulging  assurance. 

She  had  seen  the  rancher  Bohall,  with  foot  saved 
from  amputation,  go  forth  to  his  alfalfa  fields  and 
cattle  like  a  new  man.  There  was  her  brother:  Jack 
was  swinging  about  on  crutches,  soon  able  to  depart, 
and  his  leg  in  time  should  be  as  straight  and  sound  as 
ever.  Little  Amy  had  so  far  won  against  her  insidious 

102 


THE  EGOTIST  103 

encephalitis  lethargica  as  now  to  play  about,  quick- 
eyed  and  active.  The  woman  with  the  substernal 
thyroid  enlargement,  Mrs.  Stiehm,  had  gone  home 
cured  of  her  hideous  tumefaction  and  relieved  of  con- 
current symptoms.  Ah,  Mrs.  Stiehm  was  in  one  of 
the  pictures  burned  in  her  mind!  On  the  morning 
when  Doctor  Cryder  had  operated,  Frances  chanced  to 
pass  the  door  of  the  operating  room  as  Miss  Brown 
stepped  forth  on  some  errand  and  through  the  doorway 
she  had  had  a  view  within.  Strapped  on  a  table  in- 
clined in  operative  goitre  position  lay  the  woman  facing 
her,  livid  from  terror  and  her  protruding  eyes  straining 
in  their  sockets,  while  by  her  stood  Doctor  Martin,  all 
in  white  and  gloved,  introducing  into  her  neck  hypo- 
dermic injections.  Close  by  was  a  steel  and  glass  cart 
bearing  trays  of  surgical  dressings  and  of  bright 
nickelled  instruments.  And  by  this  waited  Doctor 
Cryder,  bare  of  arms  and  in  a  big  white  gown,  with  a 
white  cap  on  his  head  and  a  mask  over  his  mouth.  His 
hands,  encased  in  rubber  gloves,  were  loosely  clasped 
before  him  and  his  air  was  serious  though  calm.  He 
looked  to  her  then  like  a  high  priest,  a  high  priest  of 
some  strange  religion  whose  mysteries  were  conducted 
in  the  twilight  of  death. 

Other  cases  he  had  since  operated  in  that  chamber — 
a  club-foot  babe  whose  tiny  feet  he  had  broken  and 
made  straight;  a  woman  with  a  fibroid  tumour  now 
convalescing  in  the  ward;  a  big  blond  Swede  with  a 
mangled  hand  from  which  three  fingers  had  been 
taken  off;  two  appendectomies  that,  according  to 
Cryder^  were  no  more  than  snaps  of  a  thumb-nail,  but 


io4  CRYDER 

an  awful  one  later,  a  fourteen-year-old  boy  who  had 
been  brought  in  at  the  last  minute,  neglected,  his 
abdomen  distended  with  free  pus  and  a  miracle  required 
to  save  him — and  Cryder's  powers  not  extending  to 
miracles,  the  boy  died  that  night.  Verily  in  that  room 
of  ether  (and,  for  that  matter,  in  the  whole  countryside) 
the  surgeon  moved  and  worked  and  lived,  so  it  seemed 
to  Frances,  in  an  atmosphere  a-reek  with  suffering  and 
death.  One  would  think  it  should  keep  him  humble! 

But  no.  When  he  left  a  bedside,  or  after  an  oper- 
ation when  he  flung  off  his  gown  and  lighted  his  pipe, 
his  vainglory  of  mind  flared  up  and  he  stood  ready  to 
dispute  the  first  statement  made — about  anything, 
whether  of  the  care  of  canaries  or  of  the  canals  of  Mars. 
In  his  fine  endeavours  one  could  warm  to  the  man;  but, 
oh,  in  the  day-by-day  intimacy  of  life,  could  one  endure 
his  combativeness  and  egotism? 

Frances  was  questioning  herself  much  of  that.  For 
Cryder  now  was  showing  an  unmistakable  liking  for 
her,  taking  her  about  with  him  on  his  drives,  inventing 
thin  pretexts  to  gain  her  company,  and  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  Jack  Huff's  hostile  looks  and  angry  mutters. 
She  was  really  fond  of  him,  or  rather  fond  of  him  at 
certain  moments,  particular  times.  She  felt  a  thrill  at 
the  prospect  of  being  loved  by  a  man  possessing  a 
character  of  such  extraordinary  complexities  and  po- 
tentialities. But  would  he,  did  he  love  her?  The 
actual  matter  of  his  sentiment  remained  hazy.  They 
discussed  everything  from  ancient  empires  to  modern 
woman,  but  he  never  waxed  tender.  When  he  appeared 
to  arrive  at  the  affectionate  personal  she  waited  breath- 


THE  EGOTIST  105 

less,  then  shot  him  an  affronted  glance  as  he  swam  away 
in  a  sea  of  talk.  Even  if  one  did  not  want  a  man,  one 
did  not  enjoy  being  hung  on  a  point  of  expectation  and 
left  there. 

One  day  late  in  August  they  were  in  the  surgeon's 
runabout  coming  down  the  highway  in  the  Furness 
valley  on  their  way  home  from  a  round  of  calls.  They 
had  left  Berger.  Dust  was  flying.  The  noonday  sun 
beat  on  their  heads.  Cryder,  gripping  in  his  teeth  a 
half-consumed  cigar,  held  the  steering  wheel  with  both 
hands,  large  of  bulk  and  radiating  his  usual  air  of  su- 
preme confidence.  At  his  side  sat  Frances,  perspir- 
ing, tired,  for  they  had  made  an  early  start  that  morn- 
ing. She  was  wondering  what  would  be  on  the  table 
for  dinner  and  hoping  it  would  be  something  good  and 
plenty  of  it. 

Cryder  opened  up,  "I've  a  proposition  to  make  you, 
young  lady." 

"  Fire  away,  Hippocrates,"  she  returned,  negligently. 

"Well,  it's  this.  Jack  and  you  are  going  to  Maron- 
ville  in  a  few  days,  as  he'll  need  a  doctor  no  longer. 
That's  the  end  of  the  first  chapter;  now  for  the  next. 
Suppose  we  get  married?" 

"Married?" 

She  uttered  the  word  in  a  tentative  tone,  thinking  she 
had  not  heard  aright. 

"Married,  yes.     You  and  I." 

"Ah,"  said  she,  unable  to  say  more  under  the  impact 
of  suddenly  realized  fact  that  this  was  a  proposal. 

"I  believe  you  like  me."  He  turned  on  her  abruptly. 
"Or  don't  you?" 


106  CRYDER 

"Yes — somewhat." 

"Thought  so.  And  you've  sense  and  character  and 
spirit,  which  a  lot  of  'em  haven't,  and  that  makes  a 
hit  with  me.  Besides,  you  have  good  humour  and  imagi- 
nation. While  you've  been  here  these  months  I've  been 
observing  you  and  analyzing  you." 

"Like  a  bug  on  a  pin." 

"No,  no.  I'm  trying  to  explain,  and  I  was  never 
more  serious  in  my  life.  As  I  say,  I've  studied  you  and 
meanwhile  considered  myself  likewise,  for  I've  faults, 
no  one  knows  better  than  I.  Living  here  as  I  have, 
I've  grown  pretty  rough  and  backwoodsy,  which  must 
be  objectionable  to  a  girl  like  you.  Lately  I've  tried 
to  overcome  my  deficiencies  by  being  a  little  less  loud  in 
my  talk  and  so  on.  Have  you  noticed  it?" 

Frances  had  difficulty  restraining  her  laughter.  Not 
two  hours  gone  he  had  been  engaged  in  a  fierce  and 
clamorous  altercation  with  a  man  at  Porcupine  Hill  who 
refused  to  pay  an  account.  Cryder  had  almost  taken 
the  fellow  by  the  throat. 

"At  times  you  appear  more  subdued,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I've  changed  because  of  you;  I  don't  want  you 
ashamed  of  me  when  we're  married.  With  a  little 
more  brushing  up  I'll  be  all  right.  You  see  I'm  coming 
straight  out  and  telling  you  my  shortcomings,  for  you 
should  know  them.  As  for  the  rest,  you  need  not  worry 
— money  and  comforts  and  good  times  and  all  the 
clothes  you  wish  and  finding  me  easy  to  get  along  with. 
There'll  be  no  trouble  about  them." 

"But  what  of  love?  Aren't  people  supposed  to 
marry  for  love?"  she  inquired. 


THE  EGOTIST  107 

Cryder  took  a  fresh  grip  on  his  cigar  with  his  teeth. 

"Supposed  to,  that's  just  the  screw  that's  loose,"  he 
answered.  "There  is  love  after  marriage,  perhaps. 
If  a  couple  are  suited  and  unselfish  and  willing  to  work 
together,  then  they  will  develop  love  for  each  other. 
I  know  how  this  love  business  works.  Being  a  doctor 
I'm  on  the  inside  of  things;  I  see  all  the  skeletons  in  the 
closets.  About  a  third  of  the  married  couples  hate 
each  other,  and  another  third  endure  each  other,  and 
with  the  last  third  there's  real  affection.  Most  of  the 
trouble  with  the  unhappy  ones  is  that  they  were  too 
terribly  in  love  before  they  married.  See?  Well,  they 
were  just  excited,  not  in  love  at  all.  Love  before 
marriage  is  mere  passion,  I  tell  you — passion,  sex 
attraction,  nervous  excitement,  and  adolescent  senti- 
mentalism.  Love  comes  afterwards,  and  then  only 
when  the  man  and  the  woman  are  adapted  to  each  other 
by  tastes  and  temperaments  and  ideals — as  we  are. 
When  they're  thus  suited  they  can  safely  marry. 
Why,  I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars  more  happy  marriages 
have  resulted  from  that  than  from  all  your  romantic 
love  affairs!" 

"Watch  the  car,  or  you'll  go  in  the  ditch,"  Frances 
cried. 

"Never  went  into  a  ditch  in  my  life.  And  I  say  my 
way  is  the  right  way.  It's  the  silly  novels  and  plays 
and  movies  that  are  responsible  for  this  fool  notion 
of  love  which  most  people  have.  Now  don't  mistake 
what  I  mean.  There  is  love,  but  a  couple  must  get  at 
it  right  and  not  allow  themselves  to  be  tricked  into 
marriage  by  sex  attraction.  Not  that  sex  attraction 


io8  CRYDER 

hasn't  its  part  in  human  affairs;  I'm  not  disputing  that. 
For  it  has,  a  big  part,  a  tremendous  part.  It's  the  most 
powerful  of  nervous  forces  and  instincts  implanted  in 
bird,  beast,  and  man  for  the  continuation  of  the  species. 
Positively.  Therefore  it's  beneficent  as  well  as  natural, 
but  among  intelligent  people  it  should  be  restrained  and 
properly  employed.  Now  what  was  I  saying  before?" 

"Something  about  marriage." 

"Oh,  yes.     Our  marrying.     How  about  it?" 

"It  smacks  a  little  of  a  business  transaction  as  you 
put  it." 

"Rot!  You  know  I  never  meant  it  for  anything  of 
the  kind.  You  understand  well  enough  that  I'm  not 
cold-blooded  in  asking  you  to  marry  me.  Don't  you  see 
I'm  fond  of  you  because  we  are  suited  ?  I  earnestly  de- 
sire you  to  be  my  wife." 

"But  do  you  need  me  as  well?"  she  demanded. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  need,  Frances?  I  could 
get  along  without  you  if  I  must,  of  course.  I'm  not 
going  to  lie  and  say  I'll  pine  away  or  lose  my  mind  or 
anything  like  that  if  you  refuse.  Strictly  speaking — 
meaning  in  a  material  sense — no  man  needs  a  woman. 
He  just  wants  her.  And  that's  the  explanation.  So 
you  perceive  that  while  I  don't  need  you,  yet  I  want 
you.  There,  that's  clear." 

"Well,  I'll  think  the  matter  over,"  said  she. 

Cryder  heaved  himself  up,  gave  a  jerk  underneath 
him  to  straighten  the  coat  on  which  he  sat,  and  yanked 
the  swerving  car  back  on  the  road. 

"Don't  make  it  too  long,"  he  stated. 

"I'll  give  you  an  answer  before  I  go." 


THE  EGOTIST  109 

"All  right.     We'll  want  to  make  plans." 

"There  are  things  I  must  consider." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  Clothes — the  trousseau.  I 
know  what  stress  women  lay  on  such  matters,"  said  he. 

Frances  gazed  at  the  hills  across  the  wide  valley  of 
the  Furness  River,  at  the  shining  loops  of  the  stream, 
and  finally  at  Cryder  himself. 

Was  there,  after  all,  no  romance  in  the  world?  Or 
had  she  missed  it,  was  she  growing  old?  One  thing, 
anyway:  of  this  big,  blunt,  tremendously  proficient  fel- 
low at  her  side  she  was  immensely  fond  in  spite  of  all  his 
peculiarities  and  defects.  Who  knew,  he  might  have 
the  facts  pertaining  to  love  exactly  right.  Perhaps  if 
they  should  marry  they  would  end  by  being  the  happiest 
lovers  ever. 

If  only  he  would  woo  her  a  little!  If  he  should  stop 
the  car  and  enfold  her  in  his  arms,  why,  she — 

Cryder's  voice  broke  in  on  her  tender  and  receptive 
thoughts:  "Wonder  what  we  get  for  chow  to-day?* 

Oh,  man  and  his  infallible  stomach! 

ii 

Old  man  Wintroub,  on  lower  Kettle  Creek,  sent  word 
that  afternoon  that  his  "misery"  was  worse  and 
Cryder  set  out  to  see  him.  The  old  fellow  had  a  floating 
kidney  which  the  surgeon  fancied  he  would  have  to  get 
hold  of  and  sew  into  place  one  of  these  days. 

As  Cryder  was  driving  south  from  Kettle  he  met  on 
the  forest  road  Mrs.  Forsythe,  who  waved  a  hand  from 
her  sedan  for  him  to  stop.  He  alighted  and  joined  her 
at  her  car. 


i  io  CRYDER 

"Engine  trouble?" 

"No.  It's  Cryder  trouble,"  said  she,  jumping  out 
upon  the  ground. 

"Eh?" 

"Now  don't  play  stupid,  Bob.  I  want  a  chat  with 
you,  that's  all.  I've  been  to  the  hospital  several  times, 
as  you  doubtless  know,  but  never  found  you  at  home." 

"Oh." 

"You're  aware  my  calls  were  not  really  for  the  Huff 
family,  though  I  made  them  think  so.  Not  in  a  great 
hurry  at  this  moment,  are  you?  Nobody  dying?  Well, 
then,  come  over  to  this  rock  where  we  can  sit  down." 

He  accompanied  her  to  a  granite  boulder  protruding 
from  the  earth  by  the  roadside.  When  they  were 
seated  the  woman  gave  him  a  long,  contemplative  look 
of  her  violet  eyes. 

"Do  you  find  it  so  hard  to  talk  to  me,  Bob?"  she 
inquired,  at  last. 

"You  always  made  conversation  easy  for  the  other 
party,  sometimes  too  easy,"  said  he. 

"That  has  a  little  barb,  hasn't  it?  No  matter.  We 
shall  not  quarrel  to-day;  I  shall  be  very  calm,  as  a 
patient  should  when  consulting  a  physician.  For  I'm 
really  consulting  you,  you  perceive.  Here's  my  trouble : 
I  don't  sleep  well,  my  mind  is  disturbed,  and  I'm  both 
anxious  and  restless." 

"I  bite,"  said  he.     "Finish." 

"You're  the  trouble;  I  can't  put  you  out  of  my 
thoughts.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  haven't  fallen  in  love 
with  you  again.  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Pure  delusion.     Mild  type." 


THE  EGOTIST  in 

"Not  so  mild  as  you  imagine,"  she  stated,  with  dark 
significance.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  fiddle  with  that 
twig  but  would  look  at  me." 

"I'm  listening  if  not  staring  at  you.  Go  on."  Then 
he  added,  "I  asked  you  not  to  come  here,  yet  you  per- 
sist in  your  visits." 

"Because  I  must  see  you.  Tell  me,  isn't  it  some- 
thing for  you  to  consider  seriously,  if  my  love  for  you  is 
sincere?" 

"Very — if  a  fact,"  he  remarked.  "As  an  asserted 
fact,  however,  it  doesn't  sound  plausible." 

"How  you  distrust  me!" 

"It's  the  love  part,"  said  he. 

"If  you  believe  me  sterile  in  affection  you're  greatly 
mistaken,"  she  exclaimed,  tensely.  "A  woman  of 
thirty-five  doesn't  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve  like  a 
silly  flapper,  but  nevertheless  she  has  a  heart  and  is 
capable  of  feeling  for  the  right  man  a  depth  of  passion 
no  mere  chit  of  a  girl  can  know,  yes,  just  because  she  is 
thirty-five  years  old  and  can  distinguish  the  true  from 
the  false  in  men,  and  because  her  heart  and  not  only  her 
heart  but  her  soul " 

"Soul?"  Cryder  cut  in,  lifting  his  eyes  and  smiling  at 
the  boughs.  "Moslems  would  deny  you  had  a  soul, 
Peg." 

"Please  don't  be  sardonic,"  she  pleaded. 

"Pardon  me.     Proceed." 

"Well,  I  have  a  heart  whether  I've  a  soul  or  not — 
and  it  hurts." 

"But  whatever  its  condition  it  never  led  your  head, 
I  know  that  much,"  he  declared. 


ii2  CRYDER 

"You  know  nothing  about  it." 

"What!     When  I  was  your  husband  three  years?" 

"Nothing,  nothing."  She  placed  a  hand  on  his 
sleeve  almost  timidly.  "Don't  be  like  this  stone  to 
me." 

He  swung  about  to  regard  her.  A  bright  pink  was  in 
her  cheeks  and  her  lip  trembled  as  her  look  joined  his. 
In  size  compared  to  him  she  was  small,  like  a  girl  youth- 
ful and  lovely,  and  he  was  struck  by  that  look  on  her 
face  and  in  her  eyes. 

"By  the  lord,  I  wonder "  he  breathed. 

"If  it  be  true?"  she  caught  him  up.  "It  is  true, 
never  doubt  of  it.  And  I  think  of  you  all  the  time, 
Bob  dear,  all  the  time." 

"That's  bad." 

"No,  it's  the  only  pleasure  I  have.  And  you  must 
see  me  hereafter.  I  yet  feel  the  hurt  of  your  repulse  at 
my  first  visit,  but  I  come  and  come  again.  Why  under 
heaven  my  desire  for  you  should  well  up  in  my  breast 
again  I  don't  know,  but  it  has.  It's  the  blessed  truth — 
and  I  think  of  you,  think  of  you,  think  of  you  continu- 
ally and  passionately.  I  understand  what  you've  al- 
ways imagined  of  me,  that  I'm  selfish  and  can  love  no 
one  but  myself.  Don't  believe  that  any  longer.  I 
loved  you  when  I  married  you — oh,  it  was  after  that 
I  suffered  delusions  which  tore  me  away  from  you! 
Now  I  see  clearly  once  more  the  man  you  are.  I  want 
you,  I  need  you.  You  must  be  good  to  me,  Bob,  and 
take  me  back." 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  said. 

"Isn't  it  that  you  won't?" 


THE  EGOTIST  113 

"No,  I  can't,  simply  can't.  Something  in  me " 

He  lifted  a  hand,  but  let  it  fall  again.  "I'm  not  able 
to  make  it  clear." 

"You  could  love  me  if  you  would  try.  And  isn't 
there  an  obligation  binding  you  to  receive  me  back  and 
give  me  your  love?  Wasn't  that  in  our  marriage 
vows?" 

"The  vows  were  annulled  as  I  recall."  He  rose  to 
his  feet  and  cast  away  the  twig  he  held.  "I  feel  not 
one  obligation,  Peg,  legal  or  moral,  to  resume  you  as 
my  wife.  Your  act  of  divorcement  left  me  free  and  you 
know  that  as  well  as  I.  If  you  really  love  me,  then  all 
I  can  say  is  that  it's  a  pity,  a  very  great  pity,  for  I  can 
make  no  return." 

"You  won't  even  try?" 

"No  use.  Your  wisest  course  is  to  go  somewhere 
and  seek  distraction  and  forget  me.  You  see,  a  woman 
can't  tear  a  man's  life  across  and  across  again  into  bits 
like  a  piece  of  paper  and  then  find  it  later  as  it  was 
before.  In  my  case  the  paper  was  not  only  torn  up  but 
burnt  to  cinder.  All  gone,  the  part  you  were  in.  I'm 
writing  on  a  new  sheet  now." 

"And  my  name  can't  go  on  it?" 

"No,  Peg." 

"I'm  not  so  sure."     Her  lips  hardened. 

"No."  He  had  found  the  right  way  to  deal  with 
her.  Dispassionately,  firmly. 

"I  don't  like  to  be  ignored — as  a  matter  of  pride,  if 
nothing  else,"  said  she. 

"You're  putting  an  unfortunate  construction  on  the 
matter,"  was  his  answer. 


ii4  CRYDER 

For  a  while  she  stood  thinking. 

"You  should  make  a  friend  of  me,  Bob,"  she  re- 
marked. "That,  at  least,  don't  you  think?" 

"As  the  case  stands  that's  impossible.  People  who 
once  have  been  married  can't  resume  a  mere  friendship, 
though  there  are  those  who  believe  so.  You  yourself 
don't  really  imagine  anything  of  the  kind.  The  relation 
must  be  either  more  than  friendship  or  less,  and  with 
us,  as  it  can't  be  more,  it  must  be  less.  My  own  choice 
is  that  we  should  have  a  bare  acquaintance." 

"You'll  end  by  making  me  hate  you,"  she  stated, 
slowly. 

"Why  must  there  be  any  feeling?" 

"  It  will  be  something,  you  may  be  sure.  You're  not 
a  person  to  whom  I  can  remain  indifferent.  You  ought 
to  know  that  from  past  experience." 

"Well,  your  emotions  are  your  own  affair." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  that  they  may  not  be  very  much 
yours  also,  Robert,  whether  you  will  or  no/' 

"I  don't  want  you  to  hate  me  any  more  than  I  wish 
you  to  love  me,  of  course,"  he  said,  smiling.  "Now, 
Peg,  if  this  is  all  I  must  be  getting  along." 

"You  give  me  not  the  least  hope,  then?" 

"Of  taking  you  back?     None." 

"Or  of  your  love?" 

"Not  a  particle." 

"You're  quite  sure?" 

"Quite." 

"And  you  stand  there  smiling  as  you  say  it,"  she  re- 
turned quickly,  with  a  flash  of  eyes. 

He  spread  his  hands. 


THE  EGOTIST  115 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  weep?"  he  asked,  his  brows 
lifting. 

Without  replying  Mrs.  Forsythe  walked  to  the  sedan, 
entered,  and  drove  on.  When  Cryder  had  his  runabout 
in  motion  she  was  turning  her  car  about  to  return  home. 

Matters  with  them  were  about  where  they  had  been, 
he  fancied. 

in 

A  few  days  later  two  gentlemen  who  had  telephoned 
to  learn  if  they  could  be  accommodated  at  the  hospital 
during  their  outing  on  Kettle  Creek  arrived  from 
Maronville.  One  of  them,  Mr.  Emmons,  vice-president 
of  the  Citizens'  National  Bank,  an  alert,  rosy,  smiling 
man  of  sixty,  had  availed  himself  of  Cryder's  hospi- 
tality on  previous  occasions;  but  his  companion,  an 
attorney  named  Patterson,  though  acquainted  with 
the  surgeon,  was  making  his  first  visit  to  Kettle 
Creek. 

The  latter's  looks  and  manner  pleased  Frances  Huff. 
A  man  of  thirty-seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  tall  and 
slender  and  wearing  a  Vandyke  beard  of  a  chestnut 
colour  which  enhanced  his  intellectual  look,  he  spoke  in 
a  low,  well-modulated  voice  and  with  a  fine  courtesy. 
She  thought  him  even  distinguished.  Mr.  Patterson 
had  been  in  Maronville  about  five  years,  coming  from 
the  East.  In  chatting  with  him  the  first  evening  she 
discovered  that  they  had  a  common  interest  in  literature 
and  library  science  and  that  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Maronville  city  library  board.  They  fell  to  discussing 
books  and  recent  tendencies  in  criticism,  novels  and  new 


ii6  CRYDER 

volumes  of  verse,  library  methods  and  the  library  in 
Maronville. 

"And  you  were  in  town  two  weeks  and  your  brother 
never  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  meet  you!'*  he  ex- 
claimed as  they  ended  their  talk,  with  his  splendid 
gray  eyes  containing  a  gentle  reproach.  Then  he  made 
a  gesture  of  recollection,  "No;  it  was  during  the  middle 
of  June  that  you  were  there,  you  say,  while  I  was  in 
Seattle  looking  after  legal  matters.  So  I'll  not  scold 
Jack.  You  are  very  fortunate  in  your  brother,  Miss 
Huff,  and  he's  a  great  favourite  with  his  friends.  And 
you  return  soon  to  town?  In  three  or  four  days,  you 
say?  Admirable." 

Frances  was  charmed  with  the  evening's  conver- 
sation with  the  man,  for  until  engaged  in  it  she  had  not 
realized  how  hungry  she  had  been  for  a  chat  on  books 
and  kindred  topics  with  a  sympathetic  companion. 
Patterson's  comments  were  trenchant,  fair,  and  often 
graced  with  light  wit,  while  his  opinions,  voiced  with 
restraint,  left  in  her  a  feeling  of  restfulness.  Inevitably 
she  contrasted  them  with  Doctor  Cryder's  combative 
or  denunciatory  assertions;  inevitably  she  confronted 
the  two  men  for  consideration  in  her  thought. 

On  the  evening  of  the  visitors'  second  day  she  had 
a  concrete  demonstration  of  the  men's  disparity  of 
nature.  After  supper  Nick,  at  Cryder's  bidding,  had 
made  a  log  fire  on  the  ridge  before  the  hospital.  Dark- 
ness came  earlier  now;  the  night  air  was  sharper,  pres- 
aging frosts  soon  in  glen  and  vale;  and  so  the  leaping 
flames  were  welcome. 

They  sat  about  on  the  earth,   Frances,  Patterson, 


THE  EGOTIST  117 

Emmons,  Jack,  Cryder  with  Amy  on  his  lap,  and 
Nichols,  the  men  talking  and  smoking,  watching  the 
sparks  shooting  in  the  air  above  the  flames  and  tossing 
opinions  back  and  forth  lazily,  while  Frances  listened. 
The  conversation  drifted  to  politics.  An  argument 
developed,  with  Cryder  opposing  Emmons  and  Patter- 
son; and  as  it  heightened  Jack  became  silent,  sending 
significant  looks  at  his  sister. 

Emmons  and  Patterson  maintained  their  points  ear- 
nestly but  with  good  nature.  The  surgeon,  however, 
was  waxing  vehement,  for  he  had  made  a  long  drive 
that  day  and  had  returned  tired  and  in  consequence 
irritable;  and  at  last,  lifting  Amy  from  his  knees,  he 
hoisted  himself  to  his  feet  for  more  energetic  play  of 
voice  and  hands. 

"Yes,  and  what  if  there  is  a  change  of  administration 
at  next  year's  election?"  he  demanded.  "It  will  be  the 
same  old  story.  Democrats  or  Republicans,  where's  the 
difference  as  long  as  the  machinery  of  both  political  par- 
ties is  manipulated  and  controlled  by  the  money  interests 
of  the  country?  There  isn't  any.  Congress  is — 

"Doc,  you're  talking  like  an  I.  W.  W.,"  Emmons 
interrupted,  with  a  laugh. 

Cryder  pointed  a  forefinger  at  the  speaker. 

"By  the  lord,  there's  a  whole  lot  to  be  said  for  the 
I.  W.  W.  and  its  theories!"  he  vociferated.  "For  one 
thing- 

"And  its  practice  also?"  Patterson  inquired,  in 
a  quiet  voice.  "Its  syndicalism?  Its  sabotage?  Its 
burnings  of  wheat  and  timber,  its  destroying  of  ma- 
chines and  flooding  of  mines  ?  Its  '  direct  action'  ? " 


ii8  CRYDER 

The  surgeon's  eyes  sparkled  and  his  thick  lips  set  in 
an  obstinate  line. 

"Yes." 

"Certainly  you  don't  countenance  or  indorse  crime?" 
the  attorney  asked,  incredulous. 

Cryder  looked  about  the  seated  group  with  a  satirical 
smile. 

"Crime — what  do  you  mean  by  crime?"  he  retorted. 
"Wait.  I  know  just  what  you're  going  to  say.  Break- 
ing law.  And  by  that  you  mean  code  law,  statutory 
law,  legislated  law — law  made  in  the  interest  of  big 
fellows  and  to  the  hurt  of  little  ones.  But  moral  law, 
eh?  How  about  that?  Heh,  how  about  that?"  He 
leaned  forward,  grinning  maliciously  at  the  other. 

Unperturbed,  Patterson  smiled  back  at  him. 

"Human  laws  aren't  perfect,  I  admit,  but  their  in- 
tent is  justice,"  said  he.  "  Law,  like  everything,  is  a  slow 
growth,  an  evolution." 

"Damn  slow!" 

"True.  But  while  in  individual  cases  laws  may 
work  injustice,  on  the  whole  they're  beneficial  and 
beneficent." 

A  contemptuous  gesture  brushed  this  aside. 

"You  didn't  answer  my  point — and  probably  didn't 
want  to  try,"  Cryder  went  on.  "You  lawyers  usually 
find  yourself  out  of  your  depth  when  you  get  outside 
of  your  web  of  laws.  What  of  moral  law,  I  say  ?  How 
about  breaking  it?  Is  that  a  crime?  To  you  chaps 
of  the  bar  it's  a  dreadful  thing  for  a  few  ignorant  and 
embittered  men  to  strike  back  at  their  masters  by 
the  only  means  in  their  power,  by  dynamite  and  fire,  by 


THE  EGOTIST  119 

direct  action,  and  destroy  something  and  maybe  kill 
somebody  doing  it;  but  it's  not  criminal — oh,  no,  not 
in  the  least ! — if  cotton-mill  owners  buy  a  legislature  to 
prevent  the  passage  of  child  labour  laws  and  grind 
children  to  hacking,  spitting  little  shadows,  or  the 
beef  trust  levies  on  the  pockets  of  the  whole  nation,  or 
— wait  a  minute,  let's  get  home,  let's  have  something 
concrete.  How  about  the  timber  frauds  in  this  country 
twenty  years  ago?  Did  the  big  criminals  suffer?  The 
lumber  barons  who  pocketed  the  profits  of  robbing  the 
Government?  Not  on  your  life.  It  was  the  poor 
ignorant  devils." 

"I'm  not  familiar  with  the  circumstances  of  those 
particular  cases,"  Patterson  remarked. 

"Well,  take  the  war  profiteers  then.  What  has  been 
done  about  them  or  to  them?  Nothing.  Why?  Be- 
cause they're  rich.  The  law  isn't  for  the  millionaire. 
You  can't  put  a  millionaire  in  the  penitentiary  if  you 
try  for  fifty  years.  The  laws  are  fixed  with  loop-holes 
for  him.  And  nobody  knows  it  better  than  you  law- 
yers, for  that's  how  you  make  your  living — keeping 
wealthy  men  out  of  jail  and  by  putting  jokers  in  laws. 
Isn't  that  so?  Ho,  ho!  The  moneyed  men  are  the 
wolves  and  the  lawyers  are  the  jackals  that  run  with 
them.  Don't  tell  me.  I  know!" 

"Isn't  this  discussion  becoming  a  bit  personal,  Doc- 
tor Cryder?"  Patterson  inquired.  "Possibly  we'd  best 
change  the  subject." 

Cryder  took  a  step  forward,  his  big  face  illumined  by 
the  flame,  arrogant  and  triumphant. 

"There  you  go,  want  to  switch  the  talk  when  I've 


120  CRYDER 

got  you  cornered,"  he  shouted.  "No,  sir!  We're  going 
to  have  it  out.  I'm  going  to  show  you  and  your  rotten 
politics  up  to  broad  light.  And  I  don't  have  to  go  any 
farther  than  Maronville!  There's  the  Hedley  Lumber 
Company.  Can  you  elect  a  county  officer,  a  single  one, 
without  it  having  a  finger  in  the  pudding?  Not 
one.  And  it's  a  subsidiary  of  the  Heidenstreit  concern, 
which  with  other  big  lumber  corporations  corrupts  our 
legislature  and  our  bench  and  intimidates  the  pulpit 
and  coerces  commercial  clubs  and  wrings  the  necks  of 
little  independent  companies  and  stifles  competition 
and  forms  'rings'  and  controls  the  press  and  browbeats 
the  railroads,  and — yes,  strangles,  when  it  can,  the 
individual  who  owns  a  tract  of  timber,  as  the  Hedley 
people  are  trying  to  wring  this  timber  from  the  Kettle 
Creekers.  I  know!  Down  on  the  wall  of  the  store 
to-day  a  man  from  the  mill  stuck  up  a  notice  that 
Wagner's  coming  up  here  to-morrow  night  to  make  the 
settlers  a  last  and  final  offer  for  their  timber.  After 
that,  no  more  dealings.  What  will  it  be?  A  thousand 
a  quarter,  just  the  same  as  before,  take  it  or  leave  it. 
And  you  and  I  and  every  man  who  knows  anything  of 
Kettle  Creek  knows  this  stand  of  sticks  is  worth  not 
less  than  five  thousand  on  the  stump.  But  will  they 
pay  that?  Never.  The  Hedley  outfit,  or  rather  the 
Heidenstreit  robbers,  are  going  to  try  to  garrote  the 
folks  here.  It's  infamous.  But  it's  no  crime.  Oh, 
no!  They're  keeping  within  the  law.  Of  course  it's 
not  their  fault  that  there's  no  one  else  to  sell  to  and  thus 
they  can  fix  an  impossibly  low  price.  That's  only  busi- 
ness. And  that's  what  you  lawyers  and  you  bankers 


THE  EGOTIST  121 

defend  and  what  your  Democrat  and  Republican  parties 
are  organized  for.  Thank  God,  I'm  a  plain  doctor! 
Mending  bones,  dosing  bellies."  He  grasped  his  belt 
and  gave  it  a  savage  hitch.  "You  fellows  make  me  sick 
with  your  sophistry  and  hypocrisy  about  the  rights  of 
property  and  respect  for  the  law.  Lives,  human  rights 
— you  don't  care  a  damn  for  them.  And  right  here, 
while  I'm  on  the  subject,  I'll  turn  prophet  and  tell  you 
that  the  time  will  come  when  you'll  pay  in  tears  and 
blood  and  havoc — 

"If  you're  going  to  prophesy,  Doc,  I'm  going  to  bed,'* 
Emmons  exclaimed  with  his  hearty  laugh,  getting  to 
his  feet.  "I  don't  mind  being  damned  by  you,  but  I 
swear  I  won't  stay  here  and  admire  you  in  the  role  of  a 
Jeremiah." 

The  others  hastily  followed  his  example.  The  op- 
portunity was  one  they  had  been  awaiting.  Cryder, 
cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  tirade,  stood  yet  fulminating 
in  spirit  if  not  in  speech;  his  hair  rumpled,  his  figure 
swelling,  his  face  impassioned,  his  lips  working  with 
stress  of  emotion.  Hewanted  to  prophesy  and  hewanted 
to  damn.  He  was  just  getting  well  started. 

He  looked  about  for  Frances.  She  was  one  who 
would  understand,  who  with  him  would  feel  the  poig- 
nant sorrows  of  mankind  and  share  his  righteous  anger 
at  the  injustice  inflicted  by  its  pride-swollen  oppressors. 
But  he  perceived  that  she  also  was  leaving  the  fire. 
She  walked  between  Patterson  and  Emmons  toward 
the  cabins,  chatting  with  the  men.  Jack  HufF  was 
swinging  away  on  his  crutches  toward  the  hospital. 
Nichols  was  going  off.  Only  the  little  girl,  who  should 


122  CRYDER 

have  been  in  bed  long  before,  remained  rubbing  her 
eyes  sleepily,  waiting  for  him  to  take  her  into  the  ward. 
But  Cryder  lingered,  gazing  hungrily  after  Frances  as 
she  passed  out  of  the  fire's  radiance  into  the  shadows. 
More  to  her  than  to  Patterson,  than  to  Emmons,  than 
to  all  the  rest,  had  he  been  talking,  his  soul  stirred  and 
his  spirit  uplifted  in  a  prophet's  fierce  passion. 

Frances  bade  her  companions  good-night  and  entered 
her  cabin.  But  Cryder's  big  figure  crimsoned  by  fire- 
light continued  to  fill  her  mind.  He,  a  prophet? 
Never.  No  longer  she  beheld  him  even  as  a  rough  but 
brainy  and  great-hearted  man  who  succoured  the  poor 
and  helpless  and  sick.  He  was  now  only  a  noisy  and 
conceited  boor  who  insulted  guests  at  his  own  fireside. 

Ever  the  blatant,  bumptious  egotist! 

IV 

After  lunch  next  day,  as  the  surgeon  was  starting 
off  for  the  river,  Huff  informed  him  that  Emmons  had 
invited  his  sister  and  him  to  go  to  Maronville  late  that 
afternoon  in  his  car  with  Patterson  and  himself.  The 
banker's  automobile  was  a  powerful  machine  with  a 
roomy  tonneau  and  heavy  springs,  which  would  make 
the  trip  comfortable  for  Jack.  It  would  also  save  him 
the  expense  of  a  hired  car.  As  they  had  planned  to 
depart  next  day,  or  at  the  latest  the  day  after,  both  the 
Huffs  felt  that  they  should  avail  themselves  of  the  offer. 
The  party  would  go  about  five  o'clock,  when  the  heat 
began  to  diminish. 

Cryder  went  off  the  ridge  with  an  obscure  resentment 
in  his  breast  against  the  youth  for  depriving  him  of  a 


THE  EGOTIST  123 

last  evening  with  Frances.  Indeed,  he  had  had  no 
evenings  alone  with  her  since  that  lackadaisical  lawyer 
put  in  an  appearance,  who  hung  round  droning  of 
libraries  and  free  verse  and  such  rot.  The  first  day  the 
fellow  had  fished  a  little,  but  yesterday  he  had  not  left 
the  hospital.  If  he,  Cryder,  went  somewhere  to  fish 
he  would  not  moon  around  women,  but  fish! 

In  Kettle,  Dave  Hollister  flagged  him  and  climbed 
into  his  automobile  to  go  to  Berger. 

"Going  to  unload  one  of  your  wall-eyed,  spavined 
nags  on  some  boob,  I  suppose,"  the  surgeon  growled. 

"I  reckon,  Doc.     I've  got  a  trade  on." 

"Well,  you  haven't  a  clean  shirt  on,  that's  a  cinch." 

Hollister  opened  his  immense  mouth  in  silent  laugh- 
ter. "We  old  batches  don't  need  to  change  shirts 

much,  Doc,  do  we?  But  say "  He  gave  Cryder  a 

sly  thrust  of  his  elbow  in  the  ribs.  "Maybe  you  ain't 
goin'  to  remain  one  of  us  long.  How  'bout  it?" 
Another  poke  in  the  ribs  and  more  laughter.  "And 
she's  a  good-looker,  Doc.  Everybody  on  Kettle  Creek's 
waitin'  to  know  the  day  and  dance  at  the  weddin'." 

Cryder  turned  on  the  speaker. 

"Go  to  the  devil,  all  of  you!"  he  roared,  fiercely. 
Then  he  lapsed  into  ominous  quiet. 

Hollister  changed  the  subject. 

"Comin'  to  the  meetin'  to-night,  I  'spose.  We're 
expectin'  Wagner  to  get  down  to  business  at  last," 
said  he.  "I  opine  the  Hedley  people  see  the  hand- 
writin*  on  the  wall  this  time  and  will  make  a  deal, 
though  there  will  be  some  bluffin'  at  first,  of  course.  He 
wouldn't  have  posted  a  notice  if  he  hadn't  been  in 


i24  CRYDER 

earnest,  would  he?  Everybody's  comin'.  A  lot  of  the 
boys  from  the  drives  got  in  last  night  and  this  mornin'. 
Wagner's  sendin'  word  for  them  to  lay  off  and  be  here. 
Looks  like  he  wants  a  full  meetin' — and  he's  goin'  to 
have  it.  Yes,  sir,  it  sure  does  appear  that  we've  got  'em 
by  the  neck  now.  And  there's  goin'  to  be  a  dance 
afterward.  If  your  lady  friend  would  like  to  come 

"Miss  Huff  and  her  brother  are  going  home." 

"To-day?  Well,  of  course  you'll  be  on  hand  at  the 
meetin'  anyway,  Doc." 

"I  won't  be  there." 

"Pshaw,  that's  no  way  to  act  when  Kettle  Creek  is 
sellin'  out,"  Hollister  said. 

"I  repeat,  I  won't  be  there." 

"We  might  need  you,  Doc." 

"If  you  think  Wagner's  going  to  give  you  what  you 
ask,  you're  making  a  wrong  bet,"  Cryder  retorted. 
"I  don't  know  what  his  object  is,  but  I  know  it  isn't 
to  give  you  people  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  apiece 
for  your  claims.  No,  I  won't  be  there." 

He  dumped  Hollister  out  at  Berger  and  proceeded  on 
his  way.  An  anxiety  lest  he  fail  to  return  home  in  time 
to  see  Frances  before  she  departed  caused  him  to  ex- 
pedite his  calls.  It  would  not  do  at  all  for  him  to  be  late. 
What  would  she  think?  She  had  agreed  to  give  him 
her  answer  before  returning  to  Maronville  and  should 
be  offended  if  he  failed  to  appear. 

By  Jove,  they  ought  to  fix  the  wedding  date  this  very 
day!  No  reason  why  it  should  not  be  settled  before 
she  left.  And  a  date  not  too  far  off.  Say  in  two 
months.  No,  in  a  month.  Actually,  there  was  no 


THE  EGOTIST  125 

object  in  putting  off  their  marriage  longer  than  two 
weeks  or  even  ten  days.  Frances  need  not  go  to  the 
bother  of  getting  a  lot  of  clothes.  What  did  he  care 
about  them?  He  was  not  marrying  her  for  her  clothes. 

Her  face,  smiling  and  sweet,  seemed  to  hover  before 
his  eyes  and  he  felt  himself  growing  gentle  with  a  new 
tenderness.  How  honest  and  unspoiled  she  was!  His 
dwelling-place  on  the  ridge  would  be  a  real  home  when 
she  was  established  there,  with  maybe  some  kiddies 
tumbling  about  on  the  ground,  and  her  smile,  so  win- 
some, greeting  him  when  he  came  back  from  calls  at 
the  end  of  the  day,  and  her  voice  sounding  in  his  ears, 
and — why,  of  course!  her  arms  going  about  his  neck 
and  her  lips  lifting  to  his.  That  would  be  living  then. 
Hang  it  all,  he  loved  her  right  this  minute!  When  he 
thought  of  her  something  gripped  his  heart  and  the  road 
was  bright  as  with  light — and  if  that  wasn't  love,  what 
was  it? 

In  spite  of  the  haste  he  made  he  did  not  reach  home 
until  nearly  five  o'clock.  With  an  odd  tremor  of  heart 
he  drove  the  runabout  up  the  ridge  road  until  he  came 
out  on  open  ground  behind  the  hospital.  Before  the 
cabin  occupied  by  Emmons  and  Patterson  stood  the 
banker's  automobile,  in  which  the  two  men  were  stow- 
ing their  bags  and  traps.  Jack  Huff  was  already  seated 
in  the  tonneau,  but  his  sister  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

"Where's  Frances?"  Cryder  asked  of  Jack. 

"In  the  ward,  I  fancy.  Went  to  make  sure  nothing 
of  mine  was  left." 

The  surgeon  sprang  down  from  his  car  and  strode 
toward  the  hospital,  but  when  he  rounded  the  building 


126  CRYDER 

he  beheld  Frances  standing  before  it  under  the  big  pine. 
The  great  log  structure  shut  off  view  of  the  men  at  the 
cabin. 

At  the  sound  of  his  quick  step  Frances  faced  about. 

"I've  come  for  the  answer,"  said  he,  joyfully,  extend- 
ing his  hands.  "Quick,  tell  me  Yes." 

She  kept  her  own  hands  at  her  side. 

"You  take  my  consent  for  granted?"  she  asked,  in 
a  strained  voice. 

He  stopped  short  in  surprise. 

"Why,  you  mean  you  haven't  yet  decided?"  he 
exclaimed. 

"I've  decided." 

"But  why  this You  are  pale,  Frances." 

"I  feel  bad,  Doctor,  because  I  must  give  you  pain," 
she  answered  in  a  husky  tone.  "You've  been  very 
good  to  me  and  my  brother.  I  want  your  friendship 
always — but  I  can't  marry  you — no,  not  that." 

"But  I  don't  understand.  I  supposed,  well,  sup- 
posed you  would,"  he  said,  still  struggling  with  in- 
credulity. "I've  been  planning  all  the  way  home 
to-day  what  we  would  do  when  we  were  married.  A 
honeymoon  in  the  East,  a  visit  to  your  home  town,  a 
trip  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  then  an  apartment  in  New 
York  for  the  winter,  and  last  coming  back  here  in  the 

spring — why — why You  mean  you  don't  love 

me?" 

"No,"  said  she. 

"Don't  you  think  you  could  learn  to  love  me?"  he 
pleaded. 

"It  makes  me  unhappy  to  say  it,  but  it  must  be  No 


THE  EGOTIST  127 

once  more.  May  I  be  frank?  It's  not  so  much  a 
question  of  my  love  as  yours.  You  don't  believe  in 
love — at  any  rate,  before  marriage;  I  revolt  from  a 
marriage  without  it.  But  more  than  that,  I  think  that 
at  bottom  you  really  could  not  love  any  one  before  your- 
self. That  may  hurt  you,  and  yet  so  it  seems  the  case 
stands.  You  can't  expect  love  when  love  isn't  given." 

Cryder  stepped  close  to  her  and  fixed  a  burning  look 
upon  her  eyes. 

"Is  it  true  that  you  believe  what  you  said?"  he 
questioned.  "Do  you  imagine  I  love  only  myself? 
Do  other  people  really  think  so?  I've  had  it  said  to  me 
before,  but  I  paid  no  attention  to  the  words,  for  people 
say  so  much  that  isn't  worth  listening  to.  But  from 
you — from  you " 

"I  must  go  now,"  Frances  said,  hurriedly,  anxious 
to  escape  the  sight  of  the  hurt  she  had  inflicted. 

"One  moment,  please.  I  may  love  myself,  but  I  love 
you  more,"  he  declared  almost  with  fierceness,  and  then 
the  fire  died  in  him.  He  went  on  in  a  low  voice,  "More 
than  anything,  more  than  myself — if  you  think  I  love 
myself  most." 

"You  wouldn't  admit  before  that  love  mattered." 

"Ah,  I  was  blind,  Frances,"  he  said.  He  lowered 
his  look  to  the  ground,  at  which  he  gazed  for  a  moment ; 
when  again  he  lifted  his  eyes  the  harsh  lines  of  his  taut 
brow,  of  his  big  nose  and  mouth  and  jaw,  had  softened, 
so  that  the  whole  expression  of  his  face  was  gentle  and 
was  somehow  strangely  sweetened.  "It  came  to  me 
only  this  afternoon  that  I  loved  you.  Just  like  a  light 
within  me,  just  like  a  dawning  light,  as  if  something  had 


128  CRYDER 

occurred  to  my  spirit.     I  can  say  no  more  of  it  than 
that." 

Frances  felt  her  limbs  trembling.  There  was  no 
mistaking  that  look  on  his  countenance.  No  longer 
could  there  be  a  doubt  that  from  the  complexities 
of  his  nature,  from  the  enigmatical  turmoil  forever 
persisting  in  his  soul,  there  at  last  had  emerged  this 
love.  And  she  did  not  love  him  in  return. 

She  could  not  bear  that  look. 

"It  can't  be,"  she  faltered.  A  shadow  of  anguish 
settled  on  his  face.  "Oh,  you  mustn't  think  of  me  at 
all!" 

"That  I  shall  always  do,  very  likely,"  he  answered. 
"Well,  I  find  the  dose  a  little  bitter.  Now  let  us  say 
good-bye." 

He  held  her  hand  shut  in  his  while  his  eyes  dwelt 
on  hers  in  a  long  regard,  then  he  turned  away.  When 
Frances  reached  the  corner  of  the  hospital  she  stopped 
for  a  last  look  back. 

Cryder  was  seated  on  the  flat  rock  where  on  the  day 
of  her  coming  from  Maronville  she  had  beheld  him  with 
the  little  idiot.  He  now  was  bowed  in  despair,  his 
elbows  set  on  his  knees  and  his  head  sunk  between  his 
fists,  as  if  cut  from  the  stone. 


CHAPTER  V 
WILD  BEES 


WAGNER'S  posted  notice  of  a  meeting  at  Kettle  to 
discuss  a  sale  of  the  timber  claims  stirred  the  valley. 
In  every  cabin  there  was  a  feeling  of  excitement  and 
exultation;  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  had  reached 
the  point  of  surrender  at  last.  Fine  tidings,  this!  And 
plans  for  moving  away  and  living  elsewhere  were  being 
hastily  made. 

Shortly  after  sunset  the  settlers  and  their  families 
began  to  appear  at  the  hamlet,  those  living  near  coming 
on  foot  and  those  at  a  distance  behind  teams,  two  or 
three  families  crowded  into  each  wagon.  The  men 
were  fresh-shaven  and  sedate;  the  women  wore  their 
best  dresses;  the  children  were  lively  as  crickets;  and 
the  girls  and  young  fellows  were  in  high  spirits,  for  it  had 
been  decided  there  should  be  an  old-fashioned  dance  after 
the  timber  sale  was  concluded,  a  last  dance  before  the 
dwellers  here  departed  from  Kettle  Creek  for  all  time. 

In  the  middle  of  the  clearing  men  had  raised  a  pile 
of  logs  and  pine  knots;  and  now  as  the  dusk  filled  the 
clearing  this  was  set  afire.  A  small  flame  creeping 
among  the  sticks  presently  shot  up  in  a  blaze  that 
spread  a  crimson  light  over  the  ground,  along  the  street 

129 


i3o  CRYDER 

between  the  rows  of  cabins,  and  against  the  surrounding 
forest.  Cries  and  squeals  from  the  children  greeted  the 
beacon,  while  about  it  youngsters  began  to  skip.  As  the 
flames  roared  higher  the  store  and  the  school-house  were 
revealed  more  distinctly,  and  the  low-roofed  dwellings 
beyond,  and  all  the  throng  of  restless,  jostling,  laughing 
forest  folk. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  last  stragglers  had 
come.  All  Kettle  Creek  was  present.  There  were  the 
Sam  and  Tom  McMurtries,  who  had  claims  farthest  up 
the  valley;  their  neighbours,  the  Swansons  with  eight 
children;  old  Arnold  Meek,  slow  of  speech  and  cautious; 
the  Failings;  the  Cardeys;  the  Finchettes;  and  Dick 
Lynch;  the  Cole  boys;  the  Johnsons;  the  Edgecombes; 
and  stout  Mrs.  Krause  with  her  three  buxom  bouncing 
daughters;  the  Browns;  the  Munroes;  the  Gillises;  and 
the  Carillons,  who  had  as  many  children  as  the  Swan- 
sons,  shy  as  pixies;  the  Tregoes;  the  Bains;  the  Cas- 
sidys;  and  Bill  Mercer,  son  of  old  Mrs.  Mercer,  Cryder's 
housekeeper;  Mike  Clark,  who  had  lost  a  piece  of  one 
ear  in  a  fight;  the  Gregories;  the  Capunes;  the  Wallaces; 
the  Rainbolts;  the  Holmquists;  the  Ewings;  the  Mar- 
shalls;  and  the  Martins,  two  families  of  them,  with  the 
promoter  Pinney;  Jim  Myers — Big  Jim — who  had  saved 
Jack  HufF;  the  Highsmiths  and  the  Pomeroys,  related; 
the  Jacksons,  the  Giffbrds,  and  the  Olsens;  Joe  Streeter 
and  old  Ma  Streeter,  who  smoked  a  pipe  between  gums 
as  bare  as  a  babe's;  the  Holsapples,  the  Tibbets,  and 
Mrs.  Rains,  a  widow;  the  Postlewaites,  who  used  to  be 
Holy  Rollers;  the  Neals,  with  their  deaf  and  dumb  girl; 
and  the  Lowrys,  living  just  over  the  bridge. 


WILD  BEES  131 

From  down  the  creek  there  were  the  Kellys,  father 
and  mother  and  six  grown  boys;  the  Tourtillottes,  of 
French-Canadian  extraction;  the  Hays  and  the  Mark- 
wells,  the  Osbournes  and  Shacklefords,  the  Voegels  and 
Wintroubs;  the  solitary  and  taciturn  Knapp  brothers, 
who  got  drunk  together  every  Christmas;  the  Lalleys, 
the  McGraws,  and  Houck,  once  arrested  for  stealing  a 
horse;  the  Sherwoods  and  the  Gates  and  the  Raapkes; 
the  Costellos,  with  three  pairs  of  twins  and  one  set  of 
triplets;  the  Widow  Poole;  the  Jones  family,  every  one 
red-headed;  the  Stones  and  the  Nordens;  and  the  Tyler 
boys,  who  would  dance  or  fight  or  make  love  or  tackle 
a  grizzly  at  the  drop  of  a  hat. 

Those  living  in  Kettle  naturally  were  on  hand — Dave 
Hollister,  indulging  in  noiseless  laughter;  Nick  and 
Myra  and  Mrs.  Nichols;  the  Goldbergs,  to  be  sure;  the 
Wakefields,  the  Holmeses,  the  Armbursts,  the  Fishers, 
and  the  Overtons;  Jack  Rogers,  who  had  lost  a  foot; 
the  Yuneks  and  the  Petersons;  Dick  Swift;  Barney 
Noble,  who  played  the  banjo;  and  last,  Nell  Boggs, 
dragging  her  idiot  boy  about  after  her. 

They  were  there,  every  soul,  from  one  end  of  the 
valley  to  the  other;  the  families,  the  widows,  the  un- 
married men,  the  aged  and  the  infirm;  lusty  youths 
and  swishing  girls,  fathers,  mothers,  leaping  children, 
crying  babes,  tottering  elders;  twelve  or  fifteen  score; 
a  multitude,  a  mob  that  filled  the  street  and  all  the 
space  around  the  roaring  fire. 

A  ceaseless  babel  of  sound  rose  from  the  throng, 
punctuated  at  moments  by  huge  guffaws  of  laughter 
from  men  or  by  frightened  shrieks  from  girls.  The 


i32  CRYDER 

firelight  disclosed  a  dark  mass  of  forms  and  heads 
continually  in  motion,  now  slowly  and  now  stirred  by 
sudden  eddies.  This  was  Kettle  Creek  coalescent  and 
vocal,  expectant  and  eager,  brought  together  by  a 
common  interest,  animated  by  a  single  purpose  and 
inspired  by  a  single  desire.  Kettle  Creek  united — the 
community,  the  tribe,  the  clan. 

Cryder,  stepping  from  the  forest,  saw  the  crowd  thus. 
Unable  to  endure  the  solitude  of  the  ridge — for  solitude 
it  seemed  with  Frances  gone — he  had  finally  come  to 
the  hamlet.  He  stood  there  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing 
for  a  time,  thoughtfully  plucking  his  lip  and  gazing 
before  him.  Then  he  glanced  about  and  found  a  stump 
in  the  shadow  and  sat  down,  clasping  one  knee  with 
locked  hands. 

Half  an  hour  went  by. 

Then  from  the  road  in  the  forest  south  of  the  clearing 
there  came  intermittent  flashes  from  an  automobile's 
headlights.  They  grew  brighter.  A  horn  honked.  Next 
a  motor  car  swept  into  view  and  speeding  forward 
stopped  near  the  fire,  whereupon  the  crowd  moved  in  a 
body  to  the  spot.  Cryder  rose  and  walked  thither. 

Wagner  sat  beside  the  driver.  In  the  rear  seat  were 
Williams,  the  company's  cashier,  and  a  Maronville 
attorney  by  the  name  of  Gersinger,  who  handled  the 
Hedley  Lumber  Company's  legal  business.  While  the 
crowd  of  Kettle  Creek  folk  were  gathering  before  the 
car  the  visitors  sat  curiously  observing  them  and  glanc- 
ing about  the  clearing  illuminated  by  the  flames. 

At  last,  when  the  stir  and  excitement  of  the  people 
died  down,  Wagner  rose  to  his  feet. 


WILD  BEES  133 

"I  see  that  all  of  you  are  here,"  said  he,  with  a 
deliberative  air.  "In  accordance  with  the  notice  I  had 
posted  on  the  store  yonder  I've  come  prepared  to  make 
for  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  a  new  offer,  which  is 
also  a  final  offer,  for  the  timber  in  this  valley.  To  try 
to  deal  with  you  individually  would  be  wasted  time,  so 
I  asked  you  to  appear  here  to-night  in  a  body  to  hear 
this  offer  and  to  decide  whether  you  accept  it  or  reject 
it.  I  repeat  what  I  said,  this  is  a  new  proposal,  but 
also  a  last  one.  Bear  that  in  mind.  If  you  refuse  it, 
there  will  be  no  more  offers  and  no  more  dealings.  You 
will  have  to  sell  your  timber  to  someone  else — if  you 
can." 

On  the  last  three  words  his  voice  rang  out  suddenly 
as  if  in  challenge.  Then  he  ceased  and  gazed  at  his 
listeners  with  his  hands  resting  on  his  hips.  Still 
maintaining  this  attitude  he  presently  resumed  his 
speech,  going  back  in  affairs,  as  it  were,  summarizing 
the  various  failures  at  negotiations  in  the  past,  and 
in  the  end  arrived  at  the  basic  cause  of  dispute  be- 
tween the  settlers  and  the  lumber  company. 

"You  Kettle  Creekers  consider  yourselves  under  no 
obligation  to  our  concern,"  said  he. 

"We  sure  don't,"  Joe  Streeter  screeched. 

"You  think  you  can  ignore  what  you  owe  it,  but 
that's  not  the  case,"  Wagner  went  on,  calmly.  "You 
were  brought  here — I  myself  brought  you — under 
agreement  to  sell  these  claims  to  the  Hedley  Lumber 
Company  when  you  had  title.  The  company  cruised 
and  located  this  timber.  None  of  you  knew  anything 
about  it  till  you  were  delivered  on  the  ground.  Your 


134  CRYDER 

travelling  expenses  were  paid.  Money  was  advanced 
you.  And  those  charges  have  been  carried  as  an  account 
against  you  and  to-day  at  a  moderate  rate  of  interest 
they  figure,  after  twenty  years,  a  large  sum." 

Arnold  Meek  pressed  forward  and  lifted  a  hand. 

"The  original  agreement  was  unlawful,  as  you  know, 
Mr.  Wagner,"  said  he.  "The  Government  decided 
that." 

"You  knew  very  well  at  the  time  what  you -were 
doing  in  being  a  party  to  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"We  did  not,"  said  the  old  man,  emphatically.  "If 
you  remember,  our  dealings  were  with  you,  and  you 
gave  us  to  understand  that  everything  was  legal." 

"I  said  you  wouldn't  be  interfered  with,  that's  all — 
and  you  haven't." 

"  If  you  said  nothing,  we  at  least  supposed  a  concern 
like  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company  would  engage  in 
nothing  unlawful,"  Arnold  Meek  returned.  "We  pre- 
sumed it  knew  the  laws;  we  had  to  depend  on  that,  for 
it  had  legal  advisers  while  we  had  none.  Some  of  us 
would  never  have  come  to  Kettle  Creek  if  we  had  known 
we  were  entering  an  agreement  to  defraud  the  Govern- 
ment. And  we  don't  consider  that  agreement  binding." 

"All  right.  We'll  drop  that,"  said  Wagner.  "But 
you  still  owe  the  company  for  the  money  advanced, 
together  with  interest." 

"I  can't  view  it  in  that  light,"  was  the  old  man's  re- 
joinder. "The  company  spent  it  in  a  dishonest  busi- 
ness, in  which  we  were  innocent  parties." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  none  of  you  knew  what 
you  were  at  when  you  came?"  the  manager  demanded. 


WILD  BEES  135 

"I  know  better.  I  know  that  the  majority  of  you,  if 
not  all,  were  aware  of  the  sort  of  enterprise  you  were 
undertaking.  More  than  one  of  you  laughed  with  me 
about  it  at  the  time.  Don't  try  to  make  yourselves  out 
better  than  you  are.  Even  you,  Arnold  Meek,  said 
you  had  heard  that  the  land  officials  were  not  particular 
about  how  claims  were  proved  up." 

The  old  man's  figure  straightened  and  his  patriarchal 
countenance  grew  stern,  even  minatory,  as  he  solemnly 
wagged  his  head  and  lifted  a  forefinger. 

"I  know  not  as  to  that,"  said  he.  "I  know  not 
as  to  that,  sir,  for  I  do  not  recall  the  circumstance. 
But  if  I  so  spoke,  I  had  in  mind  no  evil  contemplation." 

Wagner's  eyes  narrowed  to  thin  slits. 

"You  never  stated  that  you  believed  there  were  oc- 
casions when  a  liberal  interpretation  should  be  put  on 
laws  to  favour  poor  folks?"  he  demanded. 

"I  shall  neither  admit  nor  deny  it;  I  don't  remember. 
But  in  that  opinion  there's  no  wrong.  I  believe  it  a 
right  opinion.  'Deliver  the  poor  and  needy:  rid  them 
out  of  the  hand  of  the  wicked,'  saith  the  psalmist." 

In  the  tonneau  of  the  motor  car  Gersinger,  the 
lawyer,  shut  one  eye  at  Williams  in  a  cautious  wink. 
The  cashier  smiled,  but  at  once  assumed  a  serious  ex- 
pression and  gazed  straight  before  him  at  nothing. 

"I  can't  quote  the  Psalms,"  Wagner  stated,  drily, 
"but  let  me  ask  you  another  question.  Did  you  ever 
inquire  of  the  company  when  you  came  if  it  would  pro- 
tect you  in  case  of  trouble  with  the  land  office?" 

Arnold  Meek's  answer  was  given  without  hesitation: 

"No,  sir." 


136  CRYDER 

"Stir  your  mind  a  little." 

"I  have  no  need,"  came  the  reply,  in  a  tone  of 
indignation.  "For  I  expected  no  trouble.  I  was  act- 
ing in  good  faith  and  my  conscience  was  clear." 

"You're  sure?" 

The  manager's  voice  was  ironical.  He  had  folded 
his  hands  over  his  stomach,  ringers  interlocked  and 
joined  thumbs  sticking  upward. 

With  an  effort  at  patience  the  throng  of  Kettle 
Creekers  was  waiting  for  this  colloquy,  so  little  con- 
cerned with  the  real  business  of  the  night,  to  be  termi- 
nated. Mutters  and  grunts  and  a  shifting  of  feet 
revealed  the  common  feeling  about  such  a  waste  of 
time. 

"I'm  perfectly  sure,"  said  Arnold  Meek,  with  the 
emphasis  of  conviction. 

"And  you  never  raised  the  question  of  the  Hedley 
company  paying  the  court  costs  if  you  should  be  in- 
dicted?" 

"Never!" 

Wagner  relinquished  his  composure  long  enough  to 
indulge  in  a  grim,  satisfied  smile. 

"We  have  in  our  office  files,"  he  remarked,  at  length, 
"a  letter  dealing  with  those  points  which  is  signed  with 
your  name." 

An  expression  of  incredulity  appeared  upon  the 
venerable  face  before  the  speaker,  followed  by  a  look 
of  perturbation.  Lifting  a  hand  which  had  begun  to 
tremble,  Arnold  Meek  brushed  it  weakly  across  his  eyes, 
as  though  to  remove  the  mists  enclosing  memory. 

"No;  it  can't  be,"  he  said. 


WILD  BEES  137 

"We  have  it." 

"I  have  no  recollection  whatever  of  any  such  letter/' 
the  old  man  stammered. 

"It's  in  your  handwriting.  And  that's  not  all.  You 
state  in  the  same  letter  that  you  feel  you're  entitled  to 
a  further  advance  of  money  because  of  the  hazard 
you've  taken  in  filing  on  a  claim  which  is  to  be  sold  to 
the  lumber  company." 

The  crowd  was  still  now  with  the  realization  that 
something  grave  for  the  old  man  had  happened. 

"But — perhaps  I  can  explain  that "  Arnold 

Meek  began  in  quavering  accents. 

A  quick  and  scornful  gesture  of  the  manager's  hand 
cut  him  off. 

"Explain  nothing,"  Wagner  exclaimed,  for  his  calm 
had  been  dropped  like  a  coat.  "You  old  Pharisee, 
don't  try  to  make  yourself  out  a  saint  when  you're  a 
sinner!  You  don't  fool  me  a  minute  with  your  long, 
sanctimonious  old  face !  Twenty  years  ago,  when  you 
took  this  claim  of  yours,  you  were  as  greedy  as  the  next 
to  put  one  over  on  the  Government.  You  were  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  business;  your 
letter  is  proof  of  that.  Quote  the  Scriptures  to  me, 
will  you?  Well,  I  like  nothing  better  than  showing  up 
hypocrites  like  you.  Now  get  back  to  the  rear  and  let 
a  real  man  do  the  talking." 

Under  this  fierce  lashing  the  aged  settler's  head 
had  gone  down  in  abasement.  Slowly  turning  about, 
Arnold  Meek  pushed  through  the  people,  unmindful  of 
their  mutterings  and  incensed  looks  at  the  manager, 
until  he  gained  a  spot  where  he  could  stand  solitary, 


i38  CRYDER 

with  bowed  head,  repeating  over  and  over  to  himself 
that  it  could  not  have  been  so,  that  surely  he  could  not 
have  known  he  was  defrauding  the  Government. 

Cryder  was  mystified  by  Wagner's  course.  The 
Kettle  Creekers  were  already  in  a  black  mood  as  a  result 
of  the  man's  harsh  denunciation  of  one  of  themselves, 
of  their  most  respected  neighbour,  indeed.  Wagner 
would  never  succeed  in  securing  the  timber  at  this  rate. 

All  at  once  Joe  Streeter  yelled,  "Fine  talk  from  you, 
you  jail-bird!  Where's  your  striped  suit?" 

"Yah,"  bellowed  Big  Jim.  "Why  didn't  you  wear 
it  to-night?" 

Other  voices  joined  in  the  jeering,  women's  as  well 
as  men's,  until  the  air  was  thick  with  derisive  and  angry 
exclamations. 

"What  d'you  think  you're  here  for? — Don't  he  look 
swell  up  there. — We  don't  owe  your  thievin'  company 
anything. — Managers  must  have  been  scarce  when  they 
picked  you. — Say,  what  are  you  here  for,  to  buy  timber 
or  what? — Bein'  in  prison  didn't  make  him  thin. — 
Robbed  the  Gov'ment  any  lately? — Thought  you  came 
to  buy  our  claims. — How  long  was  you  behind  bars, 
Wag? — Say  you,  you  look  like  a  bootlegger.  Anything 
to  drink  in  the  car? — Hey,  make  your  offer. — How  much 
for  our  claims  ? " 

The  crowd,  now  swaying  and  surging  forward,  sur- 
rounded the  car  except  on  the  side  nearest  the  fire, 
where  it  was  restrained  by  the  fiery  heat.  Wagner 
stood  motionless  and  apparently  unaffected  under  the 
pelting  jibes  and  hoots,  his  short,  bulky  form  ruddy  in 
the  flare  of  the  burning  logs. 


WILD  BEES  139 

Gradually  the  more  prudent  in  the  throng  quieted 
the  more  voluble.  The  cries  diminished,  ceased. 

"If  you  are  done,  I'll  go  on,"  the  speaker  stated. 
"I  recalled  the  matter  of  the  money  advanced  because 
the  company  considers  it  a  debt  owed  and  to  be  paid. 
That  money  was  an  investment.  It  has  been  com- 
puted to  earn  six  per  cent,  interest,  compounded  every 
year,  and  now  has  been  running  twenty  years." 

"Yes,  and  it'll  run  a  thousand  years  before  it's  paid," 
Hollister  snarled. 

"We're  estimating  the  value  of  your  timber," 
Wagner  continued,  unperturbed,  "and  subtracting  the 
amount  of  the  debt  and  offering  you  the  balance." 

The  people  stared  up  at  him  in  disbelief.  Coming  to 
the  meeting  obsessed  with  the  idea  that  the  lumber 
company  at  last  was  to  yield  to  necessity,  they  were 
slow  to  accept  this  announcement  as  a  serious  offer. 
They  glanced  at  each  other  and  again  regarded  Wagner. 
His  statement  was  nonsensical.  Then  an  apprehension 
seized  them. 

"Of  course  you  can't  flim-flam  us  by  any  such 
figurin',"  Hollister  snapped  out,  whose  nimble  wit 
grasped  something  of  the  amount  of  interest  thus  com- 
pounded for  twenty  years. 

"It's  a  fair  charge,"  said  Wagner. 

"You're  not  goin'  to  rob  us  by  a  trick,"  the  other 
shouted,  wrathfully. 

Excitement  began  to  take  possession  of  the  assem- 
blage. Faces  were  working  and  eyes  glittering  and 
gusts  of  angry  talk  swept  through  the  company.  All 
the  fierceness  in  the  nature  of  this  rude  folk  of  the 


140  CRYDER 

wood  was  boiling  to  the  surface  in  the  menace  they  felt 
to  their  desires  and  hopes.  In  the  corpulent  figure 
elevated  in  the  car,  confronting  them  and  defying 
them,  they  beheld  not  only  a  man  they  hated  but  the 
personification  of  organized  lumber  industry  as  they 
imagined  it — a  greedy  power  seeking  to  browbeat  and 
crush  them  and  rob  them  of  their  all. 

Wagner's  shoulders  were  like  a  boulder.  His  fleshy 
bearded  face,  half-shadowed  in  the  firelight  by  the  brim 
of  his  Stetson  hat,  was  hard  and  watchful. 

"What's  your  offer?"  a  voice  called  out. 

"Hitherto  the  company  made  you—  Wagner 
began. 

But  cries  cut  him  off. 

"We  know  what  it  offered  before. — Never  mind 
that. — Give  us  the  new  offer." 

The  manager  calmly  glanced  about  over  the  crowd. 

"On  my  recommendation  it  decided  to  raise  that  old 
offer,"  said  he. 

Again  the  shouts  for  him  to  name  it.  For  a  little 
he  regarded  the  impatient  and  angry  settlers,  who  fell 
silent  in  expectation.  An  infant's  wail  sounded,  in- 
stantly hushed  by  its  mother. 

"Two  thousand  dollars  a  quarter,"  Wagner  suddenly 
barked. 

A  profound  stillness  succeeded  his  words.  The 
faces  remained  gazing  upward,  motionless,  incredulous. 
Then  a  yell  of  rage  rose  from  a  single  throat,  which  was 
a  signal  for  releasing  the  throng  from  its  momentary 
spell.  A  hundred  voices  joined  in  a  clamour  of  cries, 
of  curses  and  imprecations;  a  surge  of  human  bodies 


WILD  BEES  141 

swept  the  little  mob  forward  against  the  automobile, 
while  a  score  of  hands  reached  out  as  if  to  tear  the 
speaker  from  his  place. 

At  the  first  movement  of  the  crowd  toward  its 
intended  victim  Cryder  had  run  forward.  Pushing, 
elbowing,  hauling  men  and  women  out  of  his  way, 
exerting  the  full  strength  of  his  limbs  and  body,  he 
succeeded  in  forcing  a  passage  to  the  automobile. 
There  he  jerked  men  from  the  car.  When  at  last  he 
gained  a  place  on  the  running-board  his  shirt  was  torn 
open  on  his  breast  and  his  hat  was  gone. 

"Keep  your  hands  ofF  the  man,  you  fools!"  he 
shouted.  "Let  him  go!" 

A  deep,  savage  howl  answered  this.  The  mob  was 
past  reason  or  appeal;  and  its  malevolent  roar,  swelling 
and  shrilling,  became  a  steady,  persistent  baying  on  the 
part  of  the  crowd  for  the  blood  of  the  man  shielded  by 
Cryder. 

Wagner  at  the  rush  had  lost  footing  and  fallen  in  a 
sitting  posture  on  the  seat.  The  driver  beside  him  was 
working  frantically  to  start  the  automobile.  Cryder 
struck  and  kicked  at  the  assailants  striving  to  pull 
him  from  his  position  of  vantage,  but  finally  Big  Jim 
Myers  lunged  forward  and  wrapping  his  arms  about 
the  surgeon's  knees  dragged  him  off  the  car. 

Now,  however,  the  automobile  was  in  motion  and 
slowly  gathering  speed.  Those  before  it  scattered, 
while  others  clinging  to  its  sides  let  go  their  holds  or  fell 
aside.  The  men  on  the  running-boards  were  beaten 
down  by  the  car's  occupants.  Cries  and  yells  of  dis- 
appointment were  uttered  as  the  machine  circled  the 


142  CRYDER 

fire.  Then  a  hurled  faggot  sailed  overhead,  at  which, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  signal,  sticks  and  stones  and  blazing 
pine  knots  began  to  follow  it.  About  the  car  Kettle 
Creekers  streamed,  howling  imprecations  and  shouting 
derisive  curses  at  Wagner,  Williams,  and  Gersinger, 
who  were  fighting  desperately  to  knock  off  the  clinging, 
clawing  attackers.  At  last  their  hands  were  hammered 
free;  they  fell  away  one  by  one;  and  the  motor  car  shot 
ahead. 

Wagner  turned  about,  looking  back. 

"Saw  your  timber  yourselves,  or  keep  it  till  it  rots!" 
he  shouted. 

A  hurtling  club  smote  him  on  the  head,  and  a  roar 
burst  from  the  mob.  Wagner  sprang  up  and  facing 
behind  lifted  in  the  air  a  menacing  fist  at  the  Kettle 
Creekers,  remaining  thus  while  his  figure  grew  each 
instant  more  indistinct  as  the  car  withdrew  until  swal- 
lowed by  the  forest. 

ii 

Cryder  began  a  search  for  his  lost  hat,  which  eventu- 
ally he  discovered  on  the  ground  under  the  foot  of  a 
woman  who  talked  passionately  with  half  a  dozen 
others.  He  rescued  it,  beat  it  against  his  knee  to  re- 
move the  dust,  and  pushing  out  its  crumpled  crown  set 
it  on  his  head. 

"Well,  you  got  from  Wagner  just  what  I  expected," 
he  joined  in.  "Maybe  you  folks  will  get  out  of 
your  heads  the  crazy  idea  now  that  the  Hedley  company 
has  to  buy  you  out." 

"But  what  did  he  come  here  for,  then?"  asked  one. 


WILD  BEES  143 

Before  Cryder  could  answer  Big  Jim  burst  into  a 
sudden  guffaw  and  said,  "I  guess  we  ain't  goin'  to  move 
away  from  Kettle  Creek  this  week." 

That  depressing  fact  was  uppermost  in  the  minds 
of  all,  dissipating  anger  and  leaving  a  realization  of 
vanished  dreams.  Men  gazed  round  them  with  un- 
certain baffled  expressions.  On  the  faces  of  the  women 
was  the  strained  and  woebegone  look  worn  by  those 
smitten  with  disaster.  The  stark  truth  at  last  had 
emerged  from  rosy  illusion.  There  would  be  no  sale  of 
timber,  no  sound  of  axes  or  thunder  of  falling  trees,  no 
fat  bank  accounts,  no  exodus  from  log  cabins  to  bunga- 
lows, from  poverty  to  affluence.  Kettle  Creekers  they 
were  and  Kettle  Creekers  they  were  fated  to  remain. 

"Guess  nobody  wants  to  dance  to-night,"  said 
Hollister.  "None  of  us  feels  very  gay,  leastways  I  don't. 
That  Wagner!  I'd  like  to  peel  his  hide." 

"Might  as  well  be  starting  home,"  Failing  stated. 
"We  can  sleep  if  we  can't  do  anything  else." 

Nevertheless,  there  was  no  disposition  on  the  part 
of  the  settlers  to  depart.  Like  men  unexpectedly 
rendered  homeless  by  a  thunderbolt,  they  hung  over  the 
wreckage  of  their  hopes,  fascinated  by  the  catastrophe 
in  which  they  stood.  They  engaged  in  futile  specula- 
tions, wild  surmises,  foolish  conjectures,  peppered  with 
imprecations  and  curses  for  Wagner  and  the  Hedley 
company  and  all  lumber  concerns.  Some  of  the  fiercer 
spirits,  led  by  Joe  Streeter,  were  vociferating  of  dyna- 
mite reprisals. 

Pinney  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  throng,  lifting 
a  hand  for  attention  and  calling  out,  "One  moment, 


144  CRYDER 

friends.  You  see  now  that  my  cooperative  com- 
pany— 

''Oh,  let  up  on  that  bunk!"  young  Nichols  shouted 
derisively  from  the  edge  of  the  crowd. 

" — that  you  have  no  market  for  your  timber  other 
than  what  you  yourselves  create,  namely— 

"We  ain't  no  bankers  to  run  a  mill,"  Big  Jim  bellowed 
from  another  quarter. 

" — namely,  by  manufacturing  lumber ' 

"Rats!     Lock  him  up,"  came  a  voice. 

"We've  heard  that  till  we're  sick,"  cried  another. 

Immediately  a  confused  and  noisy  argument  de- 
veloped between  those  who  hooted  the  speaker  and 
those  who  demanded  he  should  be  allowed  to  speak. 
Above  the  clamour  Pinney's  utterances,  growing  ever 
more  shrill,  sounded  in  indistinct  phrases.  He  had  per- 
ceived his  opportunity,  his  chance  to  crystallize  Kettle 
Creek's  misfortune  into  the  cooperative  project  which 
he  had  promulgated.  He  would  not  yield  to  the  noise 
of  voices.  With  the  pertinacity  of  a  zealot  he  con- 
tinued to  speak,  to  fight  for  a  hearing,  to  declaim  his 
plan,  until  in  the  end  the  mockers  were  suppressed  and 
he  had  an  audience  that  for  the  once  was  ready  to 
harken  to  his  scheme. 

And  for  once  also  the  small,  twitching  promoter, 
inspired  by  the  knowledge  that  this  was  his  great 
moment,  his  golden  night,  intoxicated  by  enthusiasm, 
described  his  enterprise  in  concise  and  pursuasive  terms. 

"But,  Mr.  Pinney,  we  have  no  money  with  which 
to  build  a  mill,"  Arnold  Meek  stated,  as  the  speaker 
paused  for  breath. 


WILD  BEES  145 

"Exactly,"  said  Cryder,  with  a  nod  and  a  dis- 
crediting smile. 

"  But  we  can  borrow  it,"  Pinney  yelled,  triumphantly. 
"Here  is  a  letter  given  me  by  Mr.  Emmons,  vice- 
president  of  the  Citizens*  National  Bank  of  Maronville, 
only  yesterday,  in  which  he  agrees  that  his  institution 
will  loan  one  thousand  dollars  a  quarter  section,  or  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  all,  on  your  claims  when 
you  organize  this  company.  With  this  loan  the  mill 
can  be  built  and  business  begun.  Then  with  the  return 
from  the  sale  of  an  issue  of  bonds  the  debt  can  be  paid 
off.  Here  is  the  letter."  He  waved  in  the  air  the 
folded  missive  which  he  had  drawn  from  his  breast. 
"It  is  a  definite  promise  in  behalf  of  his  bank.  My 
friends,  I  tell  you  that  this  night's  refusal  of  the  Hedley 
manager  to  do  business  with  you  is  God's  own  means  to 
direct  you  into  a  cooperative  association!" 

Cryder  reached  out  a  hand. 

"Let  me  see  if  Emmons  has  gone  crazy  or  not,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"Read  it,  read  it  aloud,"  Pinney  cried,  thrusting  the 
letter  into  the  other's  palm. 

The  surgeon  unfolded  the  sheet  and  lifted  it  so  that 
the  firelight  should  fall  upon  its  surface.  The  page 
carried  at  the  top  the  lithographed  name  of  the  Citizens' 
National  Bank,  with  the  names  of  the  bank  officers  in  a 
row  at  one  side  and  the  address  at  the  other.  In  pen 
writing  was  a  brief  offer  of  the  substance  asserted  by 
Pinney,  signed  by  Emmons.  Cryder  recognized  the 
green  ink  he  himself  used.  The  letter  had  been  written 
at  the  hospital  yesterday  or  the  day  before;  and  some- 


i46  CRYDER 

time  during  his  stay  here  on  Kettle  Creek  the  banker 
had  had  a  conference  with  the  promoter  at  which 
he  had  made  known  the  bank's  willingness  to  finance 
the  loan  on  the  timber  claims. 

Cryder  returned  the  sheet  to  its  recipient. 

"How  about  it,  Doc?"  eager  voices  asked. 

"It's  as  he  says,"  was  the  reply.  "The  bank  will  do 
business  with  you  if  you  want  to,  and  for  that  matter 
your  timber  is  safe  enough  security."  Cryder  became 
thoughtful. 

"Then  it's  all  right  to  go  ahead  with  this  com- 
pany?" 

"I    didn't   say   that,"   the   surgeon    stated,    curtly. 

"But  if  the  bank  thinks  it  is ' 

"The  bank  thinks  of  nothing  beyond  its  loan  and  the 
security,"  Cryder  interrupted.  "It  cares  nothing 
about  a  sawmill  company.  Well,  I'll  say  I  am  sur- 
prised; I  never  thought  any  Maronville  bank  would 
lend  money  on  a  slow  asset  like  timber.  Maybe  they 
think  it's  all  right — and  it's  their  money!  But  don't 
ask  me  to  endorse  this  crazy  scheme  of  a  cooperative 
mill.  I  don't.  It  would  go  bust  in  a  week." 

"On  the  contrary,  Doctor,  if  you  consider " 

"Consider  nothing!  You're  not  the  man  to  put 
through  such  an  undertaking,  Pinney,  even  if  it  were 
sound,  which  it  isn't.  It's  wild  as  a  March  hare.  The 
big  lumber  interests  would  smash  you  coming  and 
going." 

"But,  Doc,  we've  got  to  do  something,"  Hollister 
exclaimed,  snapping  his  artificial  teeth  together  in  a 
protesting  click. 


WILD  BEES  147 

"Yes,  we  must  do  something,"  Arnold  Meek  agreed, 
nodding  his  long  gray  beard.  "But  perhaps  Doctor 
Cryder  has  some  other  plan  to  suggest." 

"I  haven't  and  I  wouldn't  suggest  it  if  I  had.  Lord 
almighty,  I've  enough  responsibilities  without  attempt- 
ing to  lead  the  lost  tribe  of  Kettle  Creekers  out  of  its 
wilderness." 

There  now  began  a  steady  and  excited  discussion 
of  the  merits  and  demerits  of  Pinney's  company,  the 
crowd  which  had  gravitated  about  the  place  where 
Cryder,  the  promoter,  Hollister,  and  the  other  talkers 
stood  breaking  up  into  groups  and  knots.  A  strong 
current  of  opinion,  born  of  desperation,  was  running  in 
favour  of  the  scheme.  New  champions  espoused  the 
project.  The  women  were  almost  solidly  aligned  for 
it,  quicker  to  snatch  at  hope,  more  optimistic,  readier  to 
follow  a  rainbow.  Pinney  was  everywhere,  now  in  this 
place,  now  in  that,  arguing,  persuading,  reciting  his 
"unanswerable  facts,"  declaring  the  wealth  that  should 
flow  from  the  mill,  trembling  with  eagerness,  exalted, 
voluble.  With  him  worked  his  relations,  the  Martins, 
and  others  who  hitherto  had  supported  his  plan.  On 
the  faces  of  all  was  the  hungry  and  anxious  expression 
of  men  and  women  who,  feeling  that  life  was  at  a  crisis, 
that  fate  hung  for  them  on  this  hour's  decision,  were 
struggling  with  doubts,  perplexities,  inadequacies  of 
mind,  fatal  handicaps  of  soul. 

All  at  once  a  group  of  women  moved  toward  the 
surgeon,  who  was  furiously  debating  at  the  moment 
with  Swanson,  the  Swede,  who  lived  up  the  creek  and 
who  with  a  reckless  light  in  his  eyes  was  swearing  he  was 


i48  CRYDER 

ready  to  gamble  his  timber  in  the  scheme.  They  pulled 
at  Cryder's  sleeve  and  jerked  at  his  coat. 

"Here,  what's  the  matter?"  he  demanded,  angrily, 
turning  about.  But  perceiving  that  those  who  strove 
to  gain  his  attention  were  women  he  became  mollified, 
and  remarked,  "Well,  excuse  me;  I  didn't  know  ladies 
were  after  me.  You  look  agitated.  Somebody's  baby 
got  a  bean  up  its  nose?" 

"Now,  Doc,  don't  make  fun  of  us,"  said  one.  "We 
want  to  ask  you  something  and  we're  in  earnest — it 
means  so  much  to  us  all !  And  you  know  more  than  all 
of  us  Kettle  Creekers  put  together." 

"I'll  not  be  so  rude  as  to  dispute  you,"  said  he, 
solemnly,  folding  his  arms.  "Fire  away." 

The  women  glanced  at  one  another  as  if  to  summon 
mutual  courage.  Then  three  of  them  began  talking  at 
once.  Cryder  halted  them  with  an  uplifted  hand. 

"Now,  now.  One  at  a  time,"  said  he.  "Suppose 
you  speak  first,  Mrs.  Cardey." 

"Well,  it's  this/'  the  woman  responded,  a  thin  worn 
person  with  a  wisp  of  hair  fallen  over  one  temple. 
"And  just  forget  your  arguin',  Doctor.  We  know  that 
half  the  time  you  discuss  and  argue  just  to  be  doin'  it. 
We've  come  to  you  because  you've  tended  our  babies 
and  ourselves  when  we're  sick,  and  because  you  ain't 
got  no  personal  interest  in  the  matter,  and  because 
you've  travelled  and  been  around  and  know  as  much  as 
a  lawyer  if  not  more  and 

"Yes,  yes.     But  suppose  you  get  to  the  point." 

"Well,  we  want  you  to  tell  us  honest  what  you  think 
about  this  company  of  Pinney's." 


WILD  BEES  149 

"It's  blue  sky." 

"But  what  are  we  goin'  to  do  if  we  don't  go  into 
it?  Where  we  goin'  to  sell  our  timber?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  sell  it." 

"WTell,  what  would  you  do  if  you  was  in  our  place?" 

"I'm  not  in  your  place." 

"But  if  you  was?  Tell  us,  Doctor.  We're  in  dead 
earnest;  we  got  to  decide  something,  or  just  figure  on 
livin'  here  poor  folks  all  the  rest  of  our  days."  The 
woman's  voice  broke  in  a  quaver.  "And  we  don't 
want  to  do  that.  We  want  a  chance.  We  want  our 
kids  to  grow  up  where  they  can  have  real  schoolin'  and 
be  something  better'n  us.  We  want  'em  to  grow  up  and 
be  a  credit.  What  if  you  were  a  Kettle  Creeker  with  a 
family  and  ownin'  nothin'  but  a  claim  like  us,  what 
would  you  do?  Isn't  there  a  chance  for  us  in  Pinney's 
company?  Tell  us,  honest.  Wouldn't  you  join? 
Wouldn't  you  go  into  it?" 

Cryder  gazed  at  the  women's  anxious  faces  upturned 
to  his,  wasted  and  weary  faces,  faces  drained  by  the 
hard  life  here  of  the  few  traces  of  comeliness  they  once 
possessed.  Existence  for  these  poor  beings  was  a 
monotonous  succession  of  toilsome  days.  They  swept, 
cooked,  did  washings,  sewed,  bore  children,  reared  them, 
and  knew  few  pleasures  and  comforts.  All  that 
sweetened  the  soul  was  lacking.  Yet  steadily  in  their 
hearts  burned  an  ineffable  hope  of  escape  to  a  different 
life,  an  instinctive  if  inarticulate  desire  for  finer  and 
nobler  things. 

Ah,  those  poor  wan  faces,  tremulously  eager!  A 
surge  of  infinite  pity  answered  in  his  breast  as  he  re- 


ISO  CRYDER 

garded  them,  as  he  gazed  at  these  sad,  ignorant  creatures 
with  meagre  bodies  and  starved  hearts,  these  half-dumb 
souls  with  raised  eyes.  Then  his  look  went  past  them, 
ranging  round  the  dark  lofty  wall  of  pines  enclosing  the 
place.  The  shifting  crowd,  the  stir  of  shadowy  figures, 
the  hum  of  talk,  the  great  beacon  of  logs  and  flame 
and  upward-drifting  smoke — these  only  subconsciously 
stamped  themselves  on  his  mind. 

What  if  he  were  one  of  them?  What  if  he  were  in 
their  position  ? 

He  folded  his  arms. 

Would  he  go  into  this  mad  enterprise  of  Pin- 
ney's? 

He  had  never  been  one  tamely  to  surrender  to  an 
invidious  mandate.  Better  risk  failure  in  a  hazardous 
project  than  be  content  with  a  pittance.  Better  fail 
and  go  down  fighting  than  never  to  try  at  all. 

His  great  dark  eyes  glowed. 

"I  would!"  he  exclaimed.  "Before  heaven,  if  I 
had  a  claim  I'd  go  in!" 

in 

A  cry  of  satisfaction  broke  from  the  women.  His 
utterance  was  enough.  At  once  they  rushed  away  from 
him  to  spread  the  news  that  the  surgeon,  did  he  own 
timber,  would  join  the  company. 

Cryder  continued  to  stand  on  the  spot,  looming 
big  against  the  fire  and  speculating  on  the  effect  of  his 
words.  As  his  fervour  of  the  moment  died,  he  was 
assailed  by  an  uneasiness  of  mind;  he  told  himself  he 
had  had  no  business  giving  advice  in  such  a  matter — 


WILD  BEES  151 

and  Pinney  was  a  paranoiac.  The  project  was  sure  to 
go  to  smash. 

From  mouth  to  mouth  the  tidings  sped  of  the  doctor's 
approval  of  the  cooperative  lumber  company.  There- 
upon a  movement  of  the  crowd  set  toward  the  group 
about  the  promoter;  and  Pinney,  stretching  his  chin, 
nervous,  elated,  climbed  on  a  stump  and  above  his  head 
held  a  crumpled  roll  of  papers,  ten  sheets  of  legal  cap 
fastened  with  brass  snaps  on  the  front  of  which  was 
written  a  paragraph  wherein  the  undersigned  agreed  to 
join  the  cooperative  company,  which  all  summer  its 
bearer  had  been  circulating  for  signatures. 

"Here  are  the  names  of  those  who  already  have 
signed,"  he  shouted.  "The  rest  of  you  will  now  affix 
your  signatures.  Remember,  this  is  a  pledge.  All 
should  join.  There  must  be  none  holding  out.  The 
bank  makes  it  a  condition  of  the  loan  that  all  must  be  a 
party  to  the  transaction.  Sign;  then  we  shall  organize 
a  board  of  directors.  Let  us  go  to  the  store  where  there 
is  light  and  ink." 

"I'll  sign — if  I'm  made  a  director,"  Dave  Hollister 
stated. 

"Yeah,  Dave's  a  horse-trader;  put  him  in,"  Nick 
called.  "He'll  see  we  ain't  skinned  by  anybody." 

"But  first  let  us  all  sign,"  said  Pinney.  "Follow  me 
to  the  store,  those  who  own  claims  and  who  haven't 
affixed  their  signatures.  The  affixing  of  signatures  is 
the  first  necessary  preliminary.  The  rest  will  kindly 
remain  outside  the  building  in  order  that  the  business 
may  be  transacted  more  speedily." 

"And  then  will  there  be  a  dance  ? "  a  girl's  voice  piped. 


CRYDER 

"Yes,  if  a  dance  is  desired,"  Pinney  answered,  hastily 
descending  from  the  stump  while  clutching  and  still 
holding  aloft  his  roll  of  legal  cap.  "This  way.  Fol- 
low me  to  the  store,  those  who  haven't  signed.  We 
must  have  all  the  names  and  then  we  can  effect  our 
organization.  This  way,  those  who  haven't  yet  affixed 
their  signatures." 

His  voice  continued  to  trail  back  in  repeated  adju- 
rations to  follow.  As  one  the  throng  pressed  about  and 
after  him,  surrounding  and  hiding  his  small  form, 
moving  away  from  the  fire  toward  the  log  structure 
that  sheltered  Goldberg's  stock  of  merchandise  and 
from  the  door  and  windows  of  which  fell  yellow  gleams 
of  lamplight.  At  the  doorway  confusion  began  as  all 
endeavoured  to  enter,  those  who  had  signed  as  well  as 
those  who  had  not,  the  wives  and  children  as  well  as 
their  husbands;  an  outburst  of  bickerings  and  laughter, 
a  struggle  of  dark  figures  to  push  inside.  For  now  that 
all  had  flung  themselves  into  the  new  enterprise,  the 
assemblage  experienced  the  rebound  from  its  earlier 
disappointment  and  the  keen  exhilaration  of  a  new 
hope,  the  excitement  of  a  prospective  thrust  at  fortune. 
The  people  thrilled  as  to  an  adventure.  And  all,  even 
the  children  who  realized  nothing  but  the  stir  and  their 
parents'  ferment,  sought  to  witness  the  important  pro- 
ceedings within  the  store. 

Cryder  had  not  accompanied  the  crowd  in  its  eager 
stampede  to  form  a  rival  company  to  that  of  Wagner. 
He  had  watched  it  draw  off  from  him,  forgetting  him 
once  it  had  obtained  his  declaration,  suppositional  but 
sufficient  to  its  mood.  In  the  actual  signing  he  had  no 


WILD  BEES  153 

interest :  that  was  a  mere  pantomime.  Standing  by  the 
fire  with  his  hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  he  reflected 
upon  the  impulse  that  had  led  him  to  reply  to  the 
women  as  they  had  wished,  to  utter  the  word  which 
tipped  the  wavering  scale  in  Pinney's  direction. 

The  mountain  chill,  despite  the  heat  of  the  burning 
logs,  struck  his  uncovered  breast.  Absently  he  drew 
his  shirt  together,  but  found  the  buttons  missing, 
ripped  off  in  the  struggle  around  Wagner's  car.  This 
seemed  a  night  of  wild  folly.  Wagner  had  acted  like  a 
fool  in  pricking  the  crowd's  wrath;  the  Kettle  Creekers 
had  nearly  committed  a  deed  of  rash  violence  and  now — 
who  knew? — were  headed  on  another  course  as  mad  and 
futile;  and  he  himself  had  yielded  to  a  silly  pity  a  few 
minutes  before  which  had  inextricably  involved  him  in 
a  responsibility  not  now  to  be  escaped.  No  use  to  deny 
that  he  had  influenced  the  mob,  or  to  minimize  his  part 
by  pretending  they  would  have  followed  Pinney  in  any 
case.  The  fact  was  he  had  swung  them  over,  decided 
their  minds.  As  usual,  he  must  meddle  with  what 
wasn't  his  concern. 

Cryder  continued  to  brood  while  the  minutes  slipped 
by.  About  the  store  a  dark  huddle  of  human  forms 
clung,  like  bees  about  a  place  where  they  swarm,  from 
whom  came  an  incessant  hum.  Events  of  the  past 
summer,  of  the  past  week,  of  the  day  and  evening,  un- 
related and  inchoate,  floated  through  the  surgeon's 
mind.  Then  he  recalled  the  incidents  of  his  tramps 
and  rides  with  Frances  HufF,  and  her  words,  her  tones, 
and  the  very  music  of  her  voice.  Ah,  that  started  a 
gnawing  pain  in  his  breast! 


CRYDER 

Time  and  space  seemed  to  recede  until  he  stood  no 
longer  in  the  clearing,  but  alone — infinitely  alone.  All 
his  endeavours  appeared  to  be  thwarted  and  baffled  by 
some  cross-grain  in  his  nature;  and  he  asked  himself  if 
he  were  cursed  by  a  supernal  and  hide-bound  egotism 
such  as  had  been  asserted.  Was  that  the  cause  of  the  de- 
feat he  had  suffered  all  his  life?  And  yet  all  he  desired 
was  to  help  others,  to  be  worth  his  salt  to  humanity. 

All  at  once  there  was  an  outpouring  from  the  store 
and  a  tumult  of  noise.  Men  were  whooping  and 
women  shrieking  and  youths  performing  antics.  The 
cooperative  company  was  organized.  A  sawmill  would 
be  built  and  the  timber  logged  out  and  lumber  made; 
they  should  do  it  themselves  in  spite  of  hell  and  the 
Hedley  Lumber  Company.  A  new  excitement  pos- 
sessed them.  All  were  infected  by  a  fiery  spirit  of 
certainty,  by  a  turbulent  sweep  of  desire  and  a  passion- 
ate belief  in  the  new  project. 

The  crowd  surged  toward  the  fire. 

"Three  cheers  for  Doc,"  Hollister  yelled.  And  the 
cheers  were  given. 

"We've  organized,  Doctor,"  Arnold  Meek  announced 
with  satisfaction.  "We've  chosen  a  board  of  directors 
and  elected  Mr.  Pinney  manager." 

"Here's  wishing  you  luck,"  the  surgeon  replied. 
"But  I  foresee  a  lot  of  trouble  for  you." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt.  That's  to  be  expected,  and 
yet  I'm  sure  we  shall  be  very  successful,  overcoming  all 
difficulties.  We  shall  act  carefully;  I,  for  one,  shall 
favour  a  cautious  policy." 

"Are  you  a  director,  Arnold?" 


WILD  BEES  155 

"Yes,  I'm  one  of  the  seven  selected.  Mr.  Pinney  is 
another,  naturally.  Then  there's  Dave  here,  and 
Swanson  and  Finchette  and  Edgecomb  and — 

"And  you,  Doc,"  Hollister  cut  in.  "That's  what 
we've  come  to  tell  you.  You're  a  director  on  the 
board." 

"I'm  not!"  Cryder  boomed.  "Me  a  director? 
"That's  rich.  And  I  don't  own  a  stick  of  timber." 

"Makes  no  difference;  you're  elected." 

"Then  just  count  me  out  again,"  Cryder  retorted. 
"I  wouldn't  take  the  job  for  a  million  dollars.  Not 
much.  I've  enough  woe  doctoring  folks,  let  alone  help- 
ing run  a  fly-by-night  sawmill  company.  Say,  you 
make  me  laugh!" 

"Now,  Doc,  don't  swell  up  and  go  to  kickin'  over 
the  traces.  We ' 

"No,  sir-ee.  You  don't  get  me  mixed  in  your  infernal 
mess." 

"We  need  you  on  the  board  and  we're  jest  goin'  to 
have  you  there,"  Hollister  proceeded,  in  an  obstinate 
tone.  "Everybody  agreed  to  you  unanimous." 

Cryder  made  a  violent  gesture  of  refusal. 

"Not  on  your  life.  I  won't  take  the  place.  I  tell 
you,  man,  you'll  fail,  and  if  you're  wise  you  all  will  drop 
this  crazy  scheme  here  and  now."  He  lifted  his  look 
from  Hollister  to  the  crowd,  turning  his  face  now  this 
way  and  now  that.  "Drop  it,  leave  it  alone,"  he  said, 
fiercely.  "You'll  lose  all  you  have.  I'd  like  to  take 
you  all  by  the  necks  and  shake  some  sense  into  you." 

"You  said  you'd  go  in  if  you  were  in  our  places," 
shrilled  a  woman. 


156  CRYDER 

"Yes.  I  said  that,  but  now  I  retract  it.  I  was 
thinking  of  myself.  Get  out  before  it's  too  late, 
for  I  warn  you" — he  lifted  a  hand  to  make  his  words 
more  impressive — "I  warn  you  that  you  will  be 
destroyed." 

Stillness  followed  this  solemn  prophecy  of  ruin. 
Then  presently  Hollister  spoke: 

"Well,  we'll  ride  with  the  Devil  if  that's  the  case. 
We've  made  up  our  minds,  we're  all  for  it,  and  ain't 
goin'  to  change  now.  What's  more,  you're  elected  a 
director  and  will  take  the  trip  with  us,  Doc." 

The  tension  of  the  crowd  relaxed  at  this  racy  counter 
and  a  gust  of  laughter  swept  away  the  last  trace  of 
the  Kettle  Creekers'  disquiet.  From  a  score  of 
throats  rose  the  jovial  asseverations,  "That's  right. — 
You're  elected. — Goin'  to  hit  the  high  spots  with  us, 
Doc." 

"No,  sir!"  said  Cryder,  firmly. 

"I  reckon  you  will  when  you've  slept  on  the  matter," 
Hollister  remarked. 

"Never!" 

"Anyway,  we'll  jest  keep  you  a  member  of  the 
board." 

"I  won't  have  it!" 

"Can't  help  yourself,  can  you?" 

"I  sure  can." 

"You  sure  can't." 

"Dare  to  keep  my  name  on  your  crazy  directorate 
and,  by  the  Great  Jumping  Juggernaut,  I'll  teach  you 
what's  what!" 

"Now  be  calm,  Doc,"  said  Hollister,  soothingly. 


WILD  BEES  157 

"I  am  calm,  perfectly  calm!" 

"No,  you're  not,  Doc.  You're  mad  as  a  porcupine 
that's  been  poked  with  a  stick." 

"You're  an  infernal  liar!" 

"Now,  now — now,  now."  Hollister  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder.  "Jest  be  reasonable." 

Cryder  struck  off  his  hand. 

"Here,  stop  that!"  he  roared.  "I'm  not  one  of  your 
spavined  old  horses." 

Hollister  grinned. 

"Well,  you're  a  director,  anyway." 

"Never!  Not  if  you  insist  till  my  dying  day!  O 
lord,  what  a  set  of  ignoramuses !  You  give  me  a  pain 
with  your  mountebank  cooperative  company!  Get  out 
of  the  way  and  let  me  pass!  I  need  air!" 

He  furiously  forced  a  passage  through  the  press 
of  men  and  women,  who  good-naturedly  yielded  to  his 
elbowing  and  heated  objurgations.  They  all  knew  his 
ways;  all  understood  Doc. 

Presently  were  heard  cries  to  begin  the  dance.  A 
hubbub  and  jostling  started — a  hum,  laughter,  whistles, 
calls  for  music,  whoops,  screeches. 

Business  was  finished;  now  for  revelry. 

IV 

Three  chairs  were  carried  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  where  the  musicians  seated  themselves  and  began 
to  tune  their  instruments — Dave  Hollister  his  violin, 
Barney  his  banjo,  and  little  Goldberg  his  brass  cornet. 
Men  flung  fresh  fuel  upon  the  fire  and  its  blaze  shot  high 


158  CRYDER 

into  the  night.  The  crowd's  hum  swelled  as  whines 
came  from  the  fiddle  and  thumps  from  the  banjo  and 
toots  from  the  horn.  The  laughter  grew  loud,  the 
gaiety  was  more  dominant.  Children  raced  about  and 
babies  began  to  squawl.  Throughout  the  throng  in 
the  street  there  was  an  incessant  movement  of  heads 
and  arms  and  restless  figures.  A  quarrel  broke  forth 
between  two  youths  at  one  spot,  whereupon  the  crowd 
pressed  thither  demanding  to  know  what  was  the 
matter  and  yelling  encouragement,  though  in  the  end  it 
came  to  nothing.  Then  Joe  Streeter  with  arm  locked 
in  Nell  Boggs's  and  wearing  a  reptilian  smile  went 
cake-walking  about  the  musicians. 

Cryder  had  posted  himself  by  the  store  out  of  the  way. 
He  had  a  heaviness  of  soul  that  all  the  exuberance  of 
the  company  could  not  dispel.  He  felt  that  he  was 
witnessing  the  mad  revel  of  an  aggregation  of  people 
caught  and  whirled  in  a  dizzy  maze  of  fate.  The 
vociferous  excitement,  the  noise,  their  eager  and 
confident  belief  in  the  future,  their  feverish  nonsense 
and  exultation — all  were  the  furious  passion  of  hatred 
of  Kettle  Creek  for  the  lumber  company  breaking 
forth  at  last  in  action,  in  a  reckless  and  jubilant  chal- 
lenge to  forces  of  which  they  knew  naught,  a  blind  leap 
at  Destiny.  Madness! 

All  at  once  the  fiddle  struck  up,  with  the  banjo 
droning  and  the  cornet  emitting  sharp  accented  toots 
and  brays.  The  tune  was  a  lively  rustic  one.  In- 
stantly the  chatter  and  talk  ceased  and  the  crowd 
stood  listening. 

Hollister  flung  back  his  head  and  opening  his  great 


WILD  BEES  159 

mouth  emitted  a  long-drawn  ejaculation  and  began  to 
sing  to  the  nimble  melody: 

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h 


The  fiddles  was  a-jiggin's  as  hard  as  could  be 
When  a  man  steps  up,  says  he  to  me, 
'I  think  you're  a  lady  what's  fair  and  true 
And  I  want  for  the  pleasure  of  this  dance  with  you.' 
So  I  says  to  him,  'I  reckon  I  may 

With  a  man  so  grand  and  gal'ant  and  gay 

If  your  heart  is  merry  and  your  feet  are  light 
We'll  never  stop  dancin'  till  the  sun  shines  bright.' 
Gents  step  for'rard  while  the  ladies  stand  still, 
Pick  your  pardners  for  the  first  quadrille, 
March  to  the  middle  and  form  your  square, 
And  bow  to  your  pardners  right  deb-bee-nair." 

Abruptly  the  music  ended  and  Hollister  laid  his 
fiddle  upon  his  knees. 

"Pick  your  pardners  for  the  first  dance — every- 
body-y-y!"  he  shouted. 

Hastily  those  who  as  yet  had  not  secured  partners 
began  to  rush  to  and  fro,  crowding,  elbowing,  seeking 
some  favoured  dancer.  Wives  found  husbands  and 
dragged  them  forward  to  places  where  others  were  form- 
ing sets;  young  fellows  with  girls  formed  "squares"  and 
impatiently  waiting  for  the  music  to  start  engaged  in 
double-shuffles,  cut  capers,  crowed  like  roosters  or 
mewed  like  cats;  while  unmarried  men,  "old  batches," 
sheepishly  held  back  but  presently  asked  some  old  maid 
or  widow. 

Myra  Nichols  had  seized  upon  Pinney  and  tena- 
ciously kept  him  safe  with  her  arm  locked  in  his,  while 
he  talked,  smiled,  made  himself  agreeable.  Heretofore 


160  CRYDER 

she  had  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  this  evening's 
events  had  made  him  a  good  catch:  he  had  succeeded 
in  organizing  his  company,  he  would  be  manager,  he 
would  be  a  rich  man,  he  would  give  a  wife  a  social 
position  at  once  in  Maronville  after  the  mill  was  built — 
and  Myra,  who  was  twenty-seven,  practical  and  self- 
reliant,  had  made  up  her  mind  forthwith. 

All  up  and  down  the  street  sets  had  formed.  Con- 
tinual laughter  swept  the  throng  as  shouts  and  jests 
were  hurled  back  and  forth.  The  fire  roared  and  leapt 
in  its  place  beyond  the  buildings,  as  if  to  lap  the  stars, 
flinging  a  glare  about  the  dark  forest  wall. 

The  music  struck  up  again  and  the  sets  of  dancers 
came  to  attention.  Hollister's  voice  at  once  rang  out 
in  a  high  and  penetrating  key  that  reached  the  length 
of  the  street. 

"Oh-h-h-h 


You  can't  have  bread  if  the  corn  ain't  ground — 

You  can't  have  meal  'less  the  stones  go  round, 

Bow  to  your  pardner,  balance  and  swing, 

Grand  right  and  left  and  form  a  ring — 

If  the  corn  is  yeller,  put  it  in  a  sack — 

March  to  the  centre  and  inarch  right  back, 

Circle  to  left,  circle  to  the  right — 

For  we'll  make  it  into  licker  when  the  moon  shines  bright." 

On  the  beaten  earth  of  the  street  the  feet  of  the 
dancers  tripped  and  shuffled  and  stamped  to  the  rol- 
licking nimble  music  and  shouted  words,  producing  a 
steady  rhythmic  murmur,  a  thumping  undertone,  an 
insistent  and  incessant  pulsing  sound.  Twenty  sets 
in  two  lines  circled  and  swayed  in  unison  to  the  calls  of 


WILD  BEES  161 

the  fiddler.     Eighty  couples  bobbed  and  whirled  and 
pranced  as  one. 

As  the  dance  went  on,  the  surgeon,  too,  felt  the  exciting 
quality  of  the  shrill  vivacious  notes  of  the  instruments, 
of  Hollister's  screeched  staccato  chant  and  of  the  weav- 
ing figures.  The  swift  and  feverish  strains  beat  into 
one's  brain;  the  lilt  quickened  one's  blood;  the  rhythmic 
movement  of  persons  in  harmonious  involutions  en- 
tranced one's  eyes. 

"A  long  time  ago,  a  long  time  ago — 
Couples  to  the  middle  and  sashey  in  a  row — 
Oh,  the  stuff  that  made  us  leg  it — 
Now  make  a  curtsey  low — 
Was  hoecake,  hog,  and  hominy  a  long  time  ago." 

The  dance  was  in  full  swing.  The  ceaseless  shuffle 
and  pound  of  feet  in  measure  to  the  jerky  strident  notes 
evoked  from  the  earth  a  dull  resonance,  a  steady  and 
persistent  sound  like  the  muffled  thumping  of  concealed 
drums.  Above  this,  high-pitched  and  rapid,  shrieked 
the  fiddle  and  buzzed  the  banjo  and  blared  the  cornet. 
Gasps  and  squeals  came  from  spinning  girls,  yelps  from 
youths,  a  hoarse  breathing  from  the  older  men  and 
women.  Now  and  again  a  burst  of  laughter  rang 
out.  But  ever  there  persisted  that  roll  of  thudding 
feet  on  the  beaten  ground  to  the  accompaniment  of 
Hollister's  piercing  sing-song  declamation. 

The  dancers  advanced  and  retreated  and  swung, 
crossed  and  recrossed,  jigged  and  skipped,  enfiladed 
and  whirled;  a  swarm  of  bobbing  heads  and  interweav- 
ing forms,  a  maze  of  figures  responding  to  the  caller's 


162  CRYDER 

galvanic  shouts  and  the  music's  swift  jamboree.  In 
the  crimson  light  flung  by  the  fire  they  appeared  a 
crowd  of  rhythm-intoxicated  wood  spirits  moving  in  an 
ecstatic  trance. 

"  Third  couple  swing  and  promenade  awhile — 
Oh,  let  the  lady  swing  her  gent  all  around  a  mile — 
Let  her  pardner  f oiler  and  swing  the  ladies  fair — 
A  real  janty  gent  will  toss  'em  in  the  air." 

In  one  place  Swanson,  Armbrust,  Holsapple,  Tourtil- 
lotte  and  their  wives  made  up  a  set.  In  another  the 
Highsmiths  and  the  Costellos,  the  Failings  and  the 
Stones,  balanced  and  circled  in  industrious  gaiety. 
Little  Voegel  was  dancing  like  a  lively  manikin;  tall 
Postlewaite  in  solemn  activity;  Capune  with  a  fixed 
grin;  Sam  McMurtrie  with  Irish  abandon.  Ed  Taylor 
was  slyly  squeezing  his  partner,  May  Johnson,  at  every 
turn  and  whirl.  Big  Jim's  feet  were  making  thunder. 
Myra  Nichols  kept  Pinney  dizzy.  The  three  Krause 
girls,  each  in  a  different  set,  were  panting  and  perspiring 
and  never  missing  a  step.  Sherwood  had  forgotten  his 
rheumatism  and  was  as  harum-scarum  as  a  boy.  Nick 
made  Jessie  Rainbolt's  skirts  fly  out  straight  on  the 
spins.  In  every  set  each  dancer,  young  and  old,  was 
animated  by  a  strenuous  enthusiasm. 

The  surgeon  discovered  himself  keeping  time  with  his 
foot.  Unconsciously  he  had  yielded  to  the  rude  but 
sprightly  reiterated  airs  poured  forth  in  a  medley, 
rising,  falling,  yet  ever  impinging  on  the  brain  and 
vibrating  in  the  nerves.  He  felt  himself  succumbing  to 
the  spell  of  that  dithyrambic  chant,  that  accelerated 


WILD  BEES  163 

cadence,  those  weaving  forms  and  treading  feet,  so  that 
he  was  moved  by  a  wild  impulse  to  rush  forward  and 
hurl  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  dancers  and  disport 
with  the  wildest  in  a  fantastic  rigadoon,  in  an  un- 
controlled whirl  of  body,  in  the  vehement  and  distracted 
revel  of  a  satyr. 

"When  the  fiddle  is  a-singin'  and  feet  a-jiggin'  fast — 
Hands  all  around  and  grapevine  at  the  last — 
You'll  never  be  a  gal'ant  if  you  don't  shake  'em  down. 
Oh,  you'll  never  be  a  lady  if  you  don't  swish  a  gown." 

Like  quicksilver  the  music  flashed  in  Cryder's  throb- 
bing blood.  He  restlessly  set  weight  now  on  one  foot 
and  now  on  the  other;  his  breath  came  faster:  he  could 
feel  his  pulses  leap  to  the  crash  and  stamp  of  boots. 
The  flushed  faces  and  eager  eyes  of  the  girls  challenged 
him.  The  capricious  melody  more  and  more  bedevilled 
him,  beating  in  his  brain  and  causing  his  thoughts  to 
fume.  The  very  drifting  scent  of  the  burning  logs  con- 
tained a  drugging  quality  which  increased  the  febrile 
effect  of  flickering  firelight  and  flitting  figures  and  pelt- 
ing sound. 

"And  there  was  an  old  feller  and  his  name  was  Brown, 
Who  came  with  his  fiddle  a-ridin'  into  town — 
He  came  all  the  way  from  Arkansaw, 
And  he  fiddled  up  a  tune  called  'Turkey  in  the  Straw' — 

Now  straight  to  the  front,  now  back  once  more — 
Now  balance  and  swing  and  then  encore — 
Ladies  in  the  centre  and  gents  take  a  walk — 
The  hens  stand  still  while  the  gobblers  stalk. 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  straw — 
You  can't  win  a  hen  if  you  shiver  in  awe — 


1 64  CRYDER 

Now  circle  to  the  right  and  cock  your  head — 
Now  circle  to  the  left  with  tail  outspread — 
Turkey  in  the  straw,  turkey  in  the  straw — 
Every  turkey  wants  a  hen  that  you  ever  saw — 
Now  bow  to  your  pardner  and  balance  and  swing — 
Now  ally-man  left — and  flap  a  wing — 
Ally-man  left,  ally-man  left " 

All  at  once  Cryder  experienced  a  revulsion  of  feeling 
as  his  sense  of  loss  returned,  as  he  recalled  Frances  Huff. 
In  a  twinkling  the  hypnotizing  potency  of  music  and 
scene  was  gone.  His  foot  came  to  rest.  No  longer 
the  thrumming  of  the  banjo,  the  horn's  rampant  toot- 
toot,  and  the  shrill  racing  notes  of  the  fiddle  excited  his 
fancy  and  whipped  his  blood.  With  a  flicker  of  con- 
tempt he  considered  his  emotion  of  the  moment  before 
—an  emotion  half-savage  and  half-silly,  wherein  he  had 
been  in  inclination  at  least  no  better  than  Big  Jim 
yonder  who  capered  like  a  huge  drunken  vandal. 

The  caller's  voice  was  clacking: 

"  Two  couples  forward,  now  swing  the  ladies  in — 
The  Devil's  sure  to  get  you  if  your  heart  is  full  of  sin " 


Tirelessly  the  swarm  of  dancers  whisked  and  inter- 
twined and  revolved  and  twirled.  The  tempo  of  the 
music  had  quickened,  inciting  them  to  more  spasmodic 
activity.  Through  the  glade  the  screeched  flying  notes 
corruscated,  like  the  golden  sparks  from  the  fire,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  drumming  feet;  the  homely 
jovial  tunes  ringing  to  the  treetops,  as  a  thousand  times 
before  in  bygone  days  they  had  shrilled  in  the  forests 
of  America.  They  smacked  of  virgin  woods.  Thev 
capered  with  the  wild  hilarity  of  spirits  rude  and  un- 


WILD  BEES  165 

restrained.  They  contained  a  wild  exaltation  of  hearts 
at  once  sombre  and  unsatisfied,  and  savage  and  passion- 
ate. Fiddles  had  played  them  in  cabins  of  Ohio  and 
New  York,  in  glens  of  Virginia  and  Tennessee,  and  in 
the  clearings  of  Indiana  and  Michigan.  To  their 
strains  women  in  linsey-woolsey  and  men  crowned  with 
coonskin  caps  had  gambolled;  everywhere  pioneers  of 
the  woods  had  laid  by  axe  or  gun  to  dance  to  their 
rollicking  melody;  on  river  landings  rivermen  had 
roared  and  leapt  to  the  well-known  airs;  and  in  logging- 
camps  or  in  timber  settlements  feet  thundered  when 
fiddles  scraped  the  glib  provocative  quadrilles.  To 
them  now  here  in  the  depth  of  the  forest  danced  the 
Kettle  Creek  folk. 

"  Gents  in  the  centre  and  ladies  take  a  stroll — 
Canter  right  around  and  leave  'em  in  a  hole — 
Some  people  are  rich,  some  people  are  poor, 
But  they  all  got  to  die  in  the  end,  that's  sure — 
Balance  and  swing,  balance  and  swing — — " 

In  a  steady  rippling  stream  the  improvisations,  the 
vernacular  minstrelsy  of  innumerable  fiddlers  and  dance 
callers,  poured  from  Hollister's  great  working  mouth. 
He  never  hesitated,  he  never  paused  for  breath,  and  all 
the  while  his  fiddle  was  going  full  tilt  and  his  foot  stamp- 
ing time  on  the  ground. 

But  Cryder  had  grown  weary  of  it  all.  His  look 
swept  slowly  over  the  scene.  On  the  street  and  on  the 
cabins  the  fire  cast  its  glow  so  that  where  the  shifting 
human  figures  moved  there  also  passed  their  shadows. 
Even  on  the  high  curtain  of  the  forest,  rosy  with  light, 


166  CRYDER 

a  myriad  of  vague  and  monstrous  shapes  soundlessly 
flitted  and  tossed,  mingled  and  vanished,  in  accord  with 
dancers  and  music  and  caller's  cry — a  gigantic  panto- 
mime, a  mock  revelry  of  Brobdingnagian  silhouettes. 
He  walked  away,  skirting  the  throng  and  moving 
toward  the  wood.  Behind  him  sounded  the  patter: 

"Second  gal  for'rard  and  take  a  walk  around — 
Look  for  a  feller  with  a  yeller-heller  hound — 
If  the  hound  is  drowned  then  never  make  a  sound — 
Now  the  lady  in  the  middle  and  all  hands  around — 
Now  circle  to  the  left  till  the  feller  is  found — 
Oh,  never  hunt  a  nigger  where  the  chiggers  do  abound, 
For  you  can't  shoot  a  nigger  with  a  chigger  on  the  trigger 
If  you  figger  that  it's  bigger  than  a  hound  on  the  ground — 
For'rard  and  swing,  for'rard  and  swing — 
And  let  the  lady  circle  to  her  pardner  in  the  ring — 
Now  pardner s  take  and  four  hands  make 
And  doe-see-doe  for  the  fiddler's  sake " 

At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  Cryder  paused,  gazing 
back.  The  music  was  going  faster  while  Hollister's 
doggerel  flowed  forth  in  a  swift  and  tireless  gabble.  In 
the  firelight  the  dancers  leapt  and  swung  dizzily  like  a 
swarm  of  intoxicated  puppets.  Nick  was  whirling 
Jessie  Rainbolt.  Myra  Nichols  and  Pinney  were 
bobbing  furiously.  Joe  Streeter  like  an  animated 
Jack-on-a-stick,  arms  flopping,  legs  jigging,  faced  Nell 
Boggs,  who  jumped  and  bounded  to  the  vivacious  notes. 
Other  youths  and  girls  were  whirling  and  curvetting; 
other  men  and  women  hopped  and  skipped  and  ca- 
vorted. Eighty  couples  were  jerking  and  pitching  in 
rhythmic  oscillation.  To  the  surgeon  it  seemed  as  if 
in  this  woodland  glade  a  strange  and  maniacal  satur- 


WILD  BEES  167 

nalia  was  proceeding  that  was  as  mad  as  the  turmoil  of  a 
dream. 

He  entered  the  path  leading  homeward.  The  crim- 
son glow  died  away  and  the  sounds  receded.  Darkness 
was  now  all  about  him,  though  a  faint  nebulosity, 
sufficient  for  his  guidance,  fell  from  the  stars  through  the 
boughs.  The  wood  slept.  On  the  soft  ground  his  feet 
were  scarcely  heard.  The  air  he  breathed  was  sweet 
with  balsam.  He  sensed  as  he  passed  them  the  prox- 
imity of  the  great  tree-trunks,  so  firmly  rooted  in  the 
earth  and  so  steadfastly  standing  in  the  night. 

Ah,  back  there  in  the  clearing  the  wild  bees  hummed 
and  swirled  and  danced  before  soaring  on  the  morrow 
in  impetuous  flight,  in  a  desperate  emprise  for  a  golden 
store !  And  this  great  forest  which  filled  the  valley  from 
ridge  to  ridge  was  to  be  utilized  in  the  making  of  their 
honey,  this  majestic  wood,  the  fruition  of  patient  dec- 
ades and  the  gift  of  the  bountiful  earth.  But  no.  It 
would  not  happen.  The  bees  would  fall  with  broken 
wings  and  crushed  bodies  in  the  impossible  task.  The 
forest  would  survive. 

"They  will  fail,"  Cryder  exclaimed  aloud,  coming  to 
a  halt. 

Travelled  to  his  ear  from  afar: 

"Can't  win  a  lady  if  you  don't  step  light — 
Can't  get  to  heaven  if  you  don't  live  right — 

Balance  and  swing,  balance  and  swing     .     .     ." 

Again  the  silence  of  the  forest  shut  down  like  an 
impalpable  curtain.  Darkness  and  the  hush  of  night 
reigned  about  the  listening  man. 


168  CRYDER 

But  the  dance  went  on  there  in  the  clearing,  he 
knew.  They  danced  their  honey-dance  in  the  crimson 
firelight,  with  shadows  a-dance  on  the  forest  screen. 
They  were  humming  in  a  welter  of  emotion.  They 
were  spinning  in  an  intoxication  of  ecstasy.  They  were 
drunk  with  Pinney's  spurious  nectar. 

Wild  bees  a-swarm! 


PART  TWO 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  CELEBRATION 


THE  Maronville  City  Library  building  was  a  structure 
of  moderate  size  and  plain  design,  still  new,  with  a  green 
tile  roof  and  walls  of  cream-coloured  brick;  rising  in  the 
middle  of  a  clipped  lawn  and  approached  by  a  cement 
walk  that  led  to  a  low  flight  of  stone  steps  whose 
parapets  bore  each  an  ornamental  bronze  standard 
holding  a  lamp,  a  big  globe  of  frosted  glass  illuminated 
at  night.  The  entrance  was  wide,  the  windows  of 
ample  size,  and  the  interior  excellently  arranged  for 
library  purposes.  Citizens  in  exhibiting  the  show- 
points  of  the  town  to  visiting  guests  never  failed  to 
display  and  expatiate  upon  the  superiority  of  the 
edifice,  pointing  here  and  there  at  this  and  at  that  from 
their  automobiles,  calling  attention  to  the  terra-cotta 
frieze  running  round  the  walls  just  under  the  roof 
and  customarily  announcing  in  conclusion  that  "it 
would  be  a  credit,  yes,  sir,  a  credit  to  any  city  however 
big." 

At  a  desk  in  the  main  room  of  the  building  sat  Frances 
Huff  on  a  June  day  in  the  following  year.  She  was 
librarian — an  office  she  had  held  for  the  past  nine 
months.  It  was  the  noon  hour,  the  dull  hour.  A 

171 


172  CRYDER 

single  patron  was  in  the  library,  a  lean  unshaven  man 
of  foreign  physiognomy  whose  black  hair  stuck  straight 
up  on  his  crown,  giving  him  an  aspect  of  wildness,  who 
brooded  over  a  volume  at  a  table  between  two  book- 
stacks.  Frances  suspected  he  was  an  anarchist.  At 
intervals,  as  she  pressed  a  rubber  stamp  bearing  the 
legend  "Book  overdue — please  return"  alternately  on  a 
red  ink-pad  and  on  postcards  addressed  to  delinquent 
book  borrowers,  she  glanced  to  see  if  he  was  furtively 
despoiling  a  book  or  marring  the  furniture.  She  was 
responsible  for  library  property.  And  Jack  had  said 
that  bolshevists  and  I.  W.  W.'s  were  as  thick  as  black- 
berries in  the  Northwest  nowadays,  which  Schuyler 
Patterson  had  confirmed,  adding  that  the  country 
faced  grave  problems  of  unrest  inspired  by  destructive 
doctrines  imported  from  abroad.  This  fellow  in  the 
alcove  had  a  disappointed  dirty  face  and  a  fanatical 
way  of  brushing  his  hair. 

A  warm  breeze  blew  through  the  open  windows, 
bringing  a  smell  of  wet  grass  from  outside  where  a 
revolving  sprinkler  cast  jets  of  water  over  the  turf. 
Frances  paused  to  inhale  the  refreshing  odour.  Then 
she  finished  stamping  the  postcards,  tossed  the  pack 
into  a  drawer,  and  looked  at  the  large  clock  on  the 
wall.  Half-past  twelve.  Frances  stared  at  the  clock, 
annoyed;  its  hands  certainly  were  dawdling  this  noon. 

Through  the  open  doorway  she  watched  three  brown 
pigeons  which  padded  about  in  the  dust  of  the  street 
beyond  the  lawn.  She  suppressed  a  yawn,  sighed 
about  nothing  in  particular,  and  finally,  shooting  a 
vigilant  glance  at  the  anarchist,  who  apparently  was 


THE  CELEBRATION  173 

conducting  himself  lawfully,  she  locked  hands  behind 
her  head  and  fixedly  regarded  a  picture  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  hung  above  the  entrance. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  unaware  of  the  grave 
countenance  on  which  her  eyes  were  set.  In  fancy  her 
mind  was  disclosing  future  scenes,  divers  and  pleasing, 
wherein  she  and  Schuyler  Patterson  were  the  central 
figures.  For  they  were  betrothed. 

Shortly  after  her  return  from  Kettle  Creek  the  previ- 
ous summer  the  attorney,  who  during  his  brief  holiday 
at  Cryder's  wilderness  abode  had  been  favourably 
impressed  by  Frances  Huff's  personality  and  her 
library  training,  requested  of  her  the  privilege  of 
presenting  her  name  to  the  Library  Board  as  that  of  a 
candidate  for  the  position  of  librarian.  The  present 
incumbent,  it  appeared,  was  retiring.  She  was  a 
middle-aged  woman  who  had  outgrown  her  usefulness; 
her  methods  were  old-fashioned  and  careless,  while  her 
temper  was  variable;  and  though  a  change  would  work  a 
hardship  in  her  individual  case,  yet  for  the  general  good 
it  was  deemed  best  that  she  withdraw  to  make  room  for 
a  more  efficient  person. 

At  first  Frances  had  declined  to  accede  to  Patterson's 
request.  She  planned  to  return  East.  At  no  time  had 
she  contemplated  staying  permanently  in  this  part 
of  the  country.  To  remain  would  involve  an  entire 
readjustment  of  her  prospective  scheme  of  life,  nebulous 
though  this  was;  necessitate,  indeed,  a  snapping  of  all 
those  roots  that  held  her  to  the  soil  of  New  England — 
the  interests,  the  friendships,  the  sentiments,  the  very 
provincialism  of  speech  and  thought  and  outlook,  all 


1/4  CRYDER 

part  of  herself,  all  so  tenacious  and  so  dear.  She 
couldn't  think  of  it,  she  declared.  But  after  a  day  or 
two  she  did  begin  to  think  of  it,  more  and  more  seriously 
in  each  period  of  consideration.  She  weighed  the 
practical  features  against  the  sentimental,  for  Jack  had 
said  this  was  vital.  She  was  doing  her  best  nowadays 
to  take  a  practical  view  of  matters.  Ever  since  her 
return  from  Kettle  Creek!  There  she  had  nearly  been 
wrecked  by  sentiment.  One  must  see  men  and  things 
as  they  actually  were  in  order  not  to  be  deluded  by  rosy 
mists.  See  life  as  it  was,  too.  And  was  not  life  most  of 
all  a  practical  affair?  Well,  consider.  At  home  she 
had  no  definite  employment  in  sight,  but  here  was  an 
immediate  and  desirable  place  that  she  might  obtain; 
there  she  should  be  alone,  but  here  be  with  Jack.  In 
the  end  these  inducements,  reinforced  by  her  brother's 
urgings  and  the  attorney's  discreet  persuasions,  won  her 
over.  She  consented  to  the  submission  of  her  name 
before  the  Library  Board. 

This  was  equivalent  to  election — she  had  Jack's  word 
for  it.  Wasn't  Patterson  her  sponsor?  Didn't  he  run 
the  Board?  Hadn't  he  put  the  screws  on  the  present 
librarian  until  she  quit?  He  had.  And  he  would  elect 
Frankie.  Just  wait  and  see.  Frances  waited  and  saw. 
At  a  special  meeting  of  the  Board  two  evenings  later 
she  was  chosen  to  succeed  the  retiring  librarian,  and 
Schuyler  Patterson  had  come  round  after  adjournment 
to  bring  the  news. 

About  this  time  Jack  had  returned  to  work  at  the 
mill.  Except  for  a  slight  tenderness  in  his  injured  leg, 
he  was  fully  recovered;  and  as  a  result  of  his  summer's 


THE  CELEBRATION  175 

inaction  he  now  brought  to  his  labour  an  intenser 
energy  and  enthusiasm,  as  if  determined  to  make  up  for 
lost  time.  Early  in  December  he  was  promoted  to  the 
superintendency  of  the  sawmill — an  advance  that  was  as 
inevitable  as  the  sun's  rising,  quoth  Patterson,  when  on 
learning  of  the  event  he  dropped  in  at  the  Huff  home  to 
convey  his  felicitations  to  Jack  and  Frances.  He  had 
got  into  the  way  of  dropping  in  on  them  of  evenings;  no 
other  place,  he  had  explained,  was  so  cheery,  so  delight- 
ful, so  full  of  charm. 

In  the  autumn  the  Huffs  had  leased  a  newly  built 
bungalow,  which  they  furnished  comfortably  and  with  a 
quiet  taste  that  pleased  the  attorney.  With  the  pass- 
ing of  the  weeks  his  calls  became  like  a  routine  fact; 
and  on  those  winter  evenings  he  and  Frances,  when 
Jack  had  withdrawn,  sat  before  the  fireplace,  where  a 
log  burned  brightly,  and  engaged  in  talk,  in  discussion 
and  in  those  exchanged  intimacies  of  thought  that 
quicken  affection.  The  smell  of  the  burning  pine  was 
sweet.  The  play  of  flame  about  the  log  tranquillized 
their  mood.  The  low  wind  in  the  chimney  deepened 
their  sense  of  peace. 

A  similarity  in  tastes  and  sympathies,  as  revealed  in 
their  talks,  was  the  beginning  of  the  pleasure  Frances 
found  in  Patterson's  companionship.  She  discovered 
that  he  agreed  with  her  opinions  on  books,  on  the 
modern  art  tendencies,  and  like  herself  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  social  movements  of  the  day.  His 
restrained  and  careful  utterances  had  a  thoughtful 
quality  which,  she  was  sure,  bespoke  a  deep  and 
generous  mind.  His  smile,  his  tempered  good  humour, 


176  CRYDER 

could  arise  only  from  a  nature  not  only  amiable  but 
animated  by  a  strong  good-will.  He  assured  Frances 
that  he  had  nothing  but  good-will  for  everyone;  and  he 
disclosed  to  her  that  he  had  been  greatly  hurt  by  the 
criticisms  of  certain  persons  in  Maronville  who,  un- 
informed or  prejudiced,  had  taken  exception  to  the 
action  of  the  Library  Board  in  getting  rid  of  Miss 
Harper,  Frances's  predecessor.  He  personally  felt  only 
good-will  for  the  woman.  Possibly  the  loss  of  the  office 
deprived  her  of  a  means  of  support  as  was  claimed — but 
should  public  places  be  made  merely  berths  for  needy 
incompetents,  must  the  good  of  the  community  be 
subordinated  to  the  necessities  of  individuals?  If  so, 
the  whole  social  fabric  would  soon  deteriorate.  To  be 
sure,  Miss  Harper's  case  was  unfortunate;  it  was  one 
requiring  private  assistance,  which  was  the  proper 
remedy  for  all  such  cases.  He  himself  was  giving 
thought  to  her  affairs.  He  hoped  soon  to  find  a  clerk- 
ship for  her,  or  a  housekeeping  situation  if  nothing 
better  could  be  secured.  Something  would  be  done  for 
her,  certainly.  And  Frances  was  touched  both  by  the 
pain  he  suffered  at  the  unjust  censure  and  by  his 
solicitude  for  the  woman;  and  he  was  right,  entirely 
right,  in  his  stand  regarding  protection  of  the  public 
interest. 

Patterson  had  been  a  resident  of  Maronville  for  five 
years,  during  which  he  had  solidly  established  himself 
in  a  legal  practice  and  in  the  social  life  of  the  little  city. 
To  a  natural  suavity  of  manner  he  added  a  cultivated 
democratic  air  as  a  matter  of  policy,  though  his  instincts 
were  for  exclusiveness.  Being  a  fluent  speaker,  he  was 


THE  CELEBRATION  177 

often  called  upon  to  make  public  addresses;  his  utter- 
ances if  not  forcible  and  eloquent  at  least  were  graceful 
and  urbane,  his  gestures  pleasing,  his  statements  never 
offensive;  and  in  consequence  he  was  a  favourite  with 
audiences  on  patriotic  occasions.  During  the  war  he 
had  served  on  committees  in  charge  of  Liberty  Bond, 
Red  Cross,  and  other  "drives,"  and  also  had  been  a 
prominent  Four-Minute  speaker.  But  he  confided  to 
Frances  that  at  a  future  day  he  hoped  to  find  a  wider 
field  for  his  services  and  his  ambitions  than  could  be 
found  in  Maronville.  Yes,  he  had  ambitions.  Very 
modestly  he  confessed  the  fact.  He  had  a  longing 
to  unsheathe  his  sword,  so  to  speak,  in  a  larger  arena, 
where  both  the  law  cases  and  the  political  affairs  were 
of  real  importance.  Perhaps  he  should  find  himself  a 
tyro  among  the  gladiators  of  the  big  cities,  but  it  must 
be  demonstrated  to  him;  he  had  a  certain  faith  in  him- 
self and  his  abilities,  he  believed  he  could  match  those 
whom  he  should  meet  there.  Where?  Well,  in 
Spokane  or  in  Seattle,  possibly  even  in  Washington  or 
New  York,  later.  Did  that  sound  too  fantastic? 
Still,  for  some  time  he  had  been  building  for  the  hour 
when  he  should  leave  Maronville,  take  the  important 
step  to  a  bigger  town.  How?  By  making  friends  of 
men  of  prominence  elsewhere  in  the  state.  By  cultivat- 
ing political  leaders.  By  gaining  the  good-will  of  the 
dominating  minds  in  finance  and  industry.  Already  he 
had  made  a  considerable  advance  in  the  favourable 
opinion  of  a  number  of  influential  gentlemen  who  in  the 
future  would  be  of  material  assistance  to  him  and  who 
even  now  were  making  use  of  his  legal  talents.  It  was 


iy8  CRYDER 

so.  And  thus  he  was  laying  a  secure  foundation  for  the 
morrow's  success. 

This  all  seemed  high-minded  and  fine  to  Frances. 
She  felt,  moreover,  the  gratification  all  women  experi- 
ence when  men  of  ability  reveal  to  them  alone  the  secret 
purposes  of  their  hearts,  the  guarded  desires  of  their 
souls.  In  her  eyes  Schuyler  Patterson  was  uplifted 
and  enhanced  by  his  ambitions.  Nor  was  the  personal 
element  lacking;  he  did  not  conceal — in  his  looks  and  in 
his  manner,  at  any  rate — the  admiration  he  cherished 
for  her;  and  as  she  listened  to  his  low  musical  speech 
and  observed  his  thin  pale  face  with  its  neat  Vandyke 
beard,  aristocratic,  distinguished,  she  admitted  to  her- 
self that  her  companion  possessed  a  charm  of  his  own. 
His  very  restraint,  indicative  of  breeding,  appealed  to 
her  nature.  He  lacked  the  fierce  passion  of  Cryder,  but 
likewise  his  unbridled  violence.  Exalted  moments 
might  be  lacking  in  the  love  of  such  a  man,  but  on  the 
other  hand  there  would  be  a  restful  and  satisfying 
harmony  of  spirit.  And  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
was  it  not  that  which  made  an  enduring  love  to  bind  the 
lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman  ? 

One  night  he  had  proposed  marriage,  declaring  his 
profound  regard  and  love  for  her,  and  Frances  had 
accepted  him.  At  his  fervent,  gracious  avowal  a 
moisture  had  come  into  her  eyes  and  a  quickened  beat 
of  blood  in  her  heart.  By  this  response,  by  these  signs 
she  knew  that  in  truth  she  loved  Schuyler  Patterson. 
His  arms  enfolded  her,  his  lips  pressed  hers.  This  was 
love — ah,  yes — love  at  last! 

From  everyone   except  Jack  they  had   kept  their 


THE  CELEBRATION  179 

engagement  secret.  Her  brother  had  been  delighted 
when  he  was  told,  and  had  kissed  Frances  tenderly  and 
wrung  Patterson's  hand  for  a  full  minute.  He  knew 
Schuyler  would  make  her  happy.  Then  they  all  began 
to  talk  at  once. 

Now  on  this  June  day  the  engagement  was  to  be 
made  known  publicly.  Patterson  was  to  bring  her  ring 
to  the  house  at  two  o'clock,  a  solitaire  diamond  in  a 
platinum  mounting  purchased  in  Spokane.  She  would 
slip  it  on  and  then  they  would  go  to  the  celebration 
where  he  was  to  make  a  speech  and  there,  of  course, 
friends  would  perceive  the  betrothal  token  and  buzz 
with  questions  and  the  engagement  would  be  out.  As 
she  leaned  back  in  her  seat  with  fingers  interlaced  be- 
hind her  head  and  gazed  at  Abraham  Lincoln  over  the 
door  and  saw  him  not,  a  soft  smile  shaped  her  lips. 
Schuyler  was  a  dear,  so  fine,  so  lovable,  so  full  of  kind- 
ness and  nobility.  This  would  be  one  of  their  wonder- 
ful days. 

A  movement  in  the  entrance  drew  her  look  down- 
ward. Next  instant  she  lowered  her  arms  and  stiffened 
in  her  seat.  Naturally  something  unpleasant  had  to 
happen  on  this  particular  day! 

Mrs.  Forsythe,  dressed  in  white  and  carrying  an  open 
pink  sunshade  over  her  shoulder,  was  leisurely  mounting 
the  library  steps. 

II 

"I  expected  that  here  you  would  have  the  stern  air 
of  a  school-ma'am,  at  the  least  wearing  nose  glasses," 
Mrs.  Forsythe  remarked,  halting  before  the  desk  and 


i8o  CRYDER 

contemplating  Frances,  "and  instead  I  find  you  out- 
rageously youthful  and  pretty."  She  moved  round  the 
desk  and  seated  herself  in  an  oak  chair  near  the  other. 

"You  always  did  say  nice  things  to  me,"  Frances 
responded,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"Well,  you're  the  only  person  in  Maronville  I  care 
about,"  said  the  visitor.  And  then  she  began  to  look 
about  the  room,  at  the  walls,  into  the  book  alcoves,  and 
toward  the  doorways  of  inner  rooms.  "It  just  occurs 
to  me  that  this  is  the  first  time  I've  been  in  the  library. 
A  pleasant  place,  after  all.  And  you've  been  librarian 
ever  since  last  autumn,  I  understand." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  had  gone  away  early  in  the  previous 
September,  having  returned  but  recently.  Frances 
had  met  and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  her  on  the 
street.  But  already  Jack  had  called  on  her  on  several 
evenings;  he  wanted  Frances  to  have  her  to  dinner  some 
night  soon;  and  he  liked  her,  said  she  was  "a  live  one." 

"Have  you  been  to  Kettle  Creek  this  summer?" 
Mrs.  Forsythe  asked,  after  they  had  conversed  for  a 
time. 

"No.     My  duties  in  the  library  wouldn't  have  per 
mitted  it  even  if  I  had  desired." 

"And  you  had  not  the  desire?" 

"No." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  smiled  and  nodded  knowingly. 

"I  understand  why,"  said  she.  "I  presume  Doctor 
Cryder  disappeared  during  the  winter  as  usual." 

"He  was  in  New  York,  I  believe,"  Frances  rejoined. 
"He  has  a  young  doctor  look  after  his  practice  while 
he's  gone,  he  told  me  last  summer,  and  during  his 


THE  CELEBRATION  181 

absence  he  does  charity  cases  in  hospitals.  Personally, 
I  haven't  seen  him  since  Jack  and  I  left  Kettle  Creek. 
A  few  weeks  ago  there  was  an  item  in  the  Gazette  report- 
ing his  return  home." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  twirled  her  sunshade. 

"My  dear,  I  feared  for  you  a  little  while  you  were  up 
there  last  summer,"  she  stated,  sweetly.  "I  was  con- 
cerned lest  you  should  be  so  foolish  as  to  lose  your  heart 
to  the  man.  Not  impossible.  A  woman  may  do  silly 
things  when  left  alone  in  the  company  of  a  fellow  for 
several  weeks.  From  boredom,  if  for  no  other  reason. 
Well,  I  had  my  fears  for  nothing,  as  it  turned  out. 
Cryder's  impossible.  A  brute.  Yes,  Schuyler  Patter- 
son is  very,  very  much  more  desirable  in  every  respect." 

Frances  flushed.  The  woman's  nod,  the  look  in  her 
blue  eyes,  the  patronizing  smile,  all  humiliated  and 
stung  her.  An  unhappy  feature  of  a  love  affair  was 
the  vexatious  and  vulgar  interest  taken  in  it  by  others. 
For  months  now  Frances  in  going  about  had  had  to 
endure  significant  smiles  when  Patterson's  name  was 
mentioned;  had  suffered  from  friends'  veiled  inquisitive- 
ness,  pretended  knowledge,  and  flippant  impertinences. 
Among  women  it  appeared  to  be  the  commonly  ac- 
cepted view  that  men  were  game  to  be  ensnared,  caught, 
bound,  which  to  Frances  was  an  odious  conception. 

"Very,  very  much  more  desirable,"  Mrs.  Forsythe 
repeated.  "How  you  could  endure  it  to  spend  two 
months  with  Doctor  Cryder  is  a  mystery  to  me." 

"He  has  many  admirable  qualities,"  Frances  an- 
swered. 

"But  the  monstrous  self-importance  of  the  fellow!" 


1 82  CRYDER 

"Perhaps  what  seems  such  is  really  the  working  of  a 
tremendously  active  mind.  He  has  that,  you  know. 
And  I  shouldn't  in  any  case  call  him  selfish,  not  as  I 
understand  selfishness.  He  doesn't  want  things  for 
himself." 

Mrs.  Forsythe's  smile  sharpened. 

"  I  thought  he  wanted  you."  She  leaned  forward  and 
patted  Frances's  arm.  "There,  there.  I'm  in  the 
secret,  too.  Jack,  who  thinks  it  a  great  joke,  told  me 
the  other  evening  of  Cryder's  wanting  to  marry  you. 
Naturally  you  refused.  He  isn't  your  kind." 

The  pink  in  Frances's  face  deepened  to  scarlet.  That 
her  brother  had  revealed  to  the  woman  the  fact  of 
Cryder's  proposal,  making  it  a  subject  of  jest,  seemed 
incredible.  Yet  it  must  be  so.  Her  lips  quivered,  and 
for  a  few  seconds  she  had  to  wink  her  eyelashes  rapidly 
to  keep  back  the  wetness  in  her  eyes. 

"All  I  have  to  say  is  that  Jack  had  no  business  to  tell 
it  to  you  or  to  any  one  else,"  she  said,  at  length.  "It 
wasn't  very  honourable  of  him  to  do  so." 

"Oh,  my  dear!  Now  you're  angry,"  cried  Mrs.  For- 
sythe.  "Why,  I'm  your  very  best  friend  and  Jack 
knows  it.  You  mustn't  take  his  head  off  for  this." 

"I'll  not.     I'll  say  nothing  about  it,  in  fact." 

"  Best  not — or  to  Mr.  Patterson.  Especially  to  Mr. 
Patterson.  It  might  spoil  everything  if  he  imagined 
you  still  were  interested  in  the  doctor.  Of  course  you're 
not,  but  men  sometimes  become  suspicious  over  noth- 
ing. And  your  friends  are  hoping  so  much  that  he 
and  you  will  arrive  at  an  understanding." 

"Kind   of  them,"    Frances   murmured,   coolly.     "I 


THE  CELEBRATION  183 

heard  from  Jack  that  you  are  planning  to  leave  Maron- 
ville  for  good." 

The  quick  change  of  subject  left  Mrs.  Forsythe  un- 
ruffled. 

"That's  my  intention,"  she  answered.  "As  soon 
as  I  sell  my  house  and  arrange  my  affairs  I'm  going. 
Maronville  is  well  enough  for  those  who  like  it,  but  it 
bores  me  to  death.  And  by  the  way,  Mr.  Patterson  is 
considering  taking  my  dwelling  off  my  hands."  She 
gazed  at  Frances  with  a  significant  smile.  "I'm  not 
going  to  say  anything  more  about  him  and  you,  but  it 
does  appear  at  least  as  if  he's  contemplating  matri- 
mony." 

"Are  you  going  to  live  in  Los  Angeles?"  Frances 
asked,  desperately. 

"  For  a  while.  Permanently,  perhaps.  I  can't  as  yet 
say.  And  you  like  this  work?" 

She  looked  about  her  once  more,  sitting  with  one 
knee  crossed  over  the  other  and  viewing  the  interior 
of  the  main  room  with  an  aloof  air. 

"Yes,  I  like  it,"  Frances  answered. 

The  conversation  lapsed.  Mrs.  Forsythe's  blue  eyes 
came  back  to  Frances  and  scrutinized  her  with  a 
thoughtful  regard.  The  woman  had  changed  not  at  all, 
so  far  as  Frances  could  see,  since  that  day  nearly  a  year 
before  when  they  sat  in  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company's 
office  and  there  came  the  news  of  Mr.  Forsythe's  death. 
She  appeared  just  as  youthful  and  just  as  nonchalant  in 
the  tilt  of  her  head  as  when  chaffing  Williams,  the 
cashier. 

"You  are  the  innocent  type  Patterson  would  marry," 


1 84  CRYDER 

the  visitor  remarked  eventually,  her  train  of  thought 
concluded.  "And  Cryder  love.  That  doesn't  mean 
the  same  thing,  however.'*  She  smiled  and  rose. 
"Are  you  going  to  the  affair  at  the  new  lumber  plant 
this  afternoon?" 

"I  expect  to.     Are  you?" 

"On  a  hot  day  like  this!  I'm  going  home  and  pull 
down  the  shades  and  sleep.  I  had  a  little  business  to 
look  after  downtown  or  I  should  not  be  here  at  all. 
And  I  thought  of  you  as  I  was  passing  in  this  street  and 
decided  to  run  in  for  a  moment  as  a  diversion.  I'm 
almost  tempted  to  hop  in  my  car  and  run  up  into  the 
cool  woods  somewhere — Kettle  Creek,  for  instance. 
Only  I  should  burn  to  a  cinder  before  I  arrived." 

"Everyone  living  on  Kettle  Creek  is  here  to-day," 
Frances  stated. 

"  I  suppose  that's  so,  Doctor  Cryder  with  the  rest  of 
them.  You  say  you  haven't  seen  him?" 

"No." 

"I'm  surprised  he  hasn't  kept  after  you  if  he  was 
really  in  love,  as  Jack  said." 

Frances  jumped  up  and  gathered  into  her  hand  some 
papers  lying  on  the  desk.  "You  must  excuse  me  now, 
Mrs.  Forsythe,  as  I've  several  matters  that  should  be 
attended  to  before  I  go  to  lunch." 

"Of  course,"  was  the  unperturbed  reply.  "You're  a 
business  woman,  my  dear,  and  I'm  only  a  drone." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  went  out  the  door  and  down  the  steps 
swinging  her  parasol.  Frances  sat  down  again.  In  her 
breast  still  lurked  the  misgiving  always  aroused  by  the 
woman  ever  since  that  sinister  revelation  of  her  soul 


THE  CELEBRATION  185 

on  the  afternoon  of  the  river  tragedy.  Between  their 
natures  Frances  sensed  an  inevitable  antagonism  and 
in  the  other  a  spirit  of  malice  that  made  her  afraid. 
One  knew  not  what  such  a  person  might  do  if  inspired  by 
enmity. 

Through  the  broad  open  windows  there  sounded  the 
faint  blowing  of  the  sawmill  siren  at  the  Hedley  Lumber 
Company's  plant  up  the  river.  Frances  glanced  at  the 
clock;  the  hands  showed  the  hour  of  one.  A  few 
seconds  later  the  echo  from  the  cliff  across  the  stream 
from  the  mill  followed,  an  exact  repetition  of  the  siren's 
sound,  distant  like  the  whistle,  muted,  scarcely  notice- 
able. 

The  echo,  the  mountain's  voice! 

Idly  she  speculated  on  how  commonplace  it  had  come 
to  seem,  how  seldom  heeded.  It  had  changed.  It 
had  diminished  to  an  insignificant  note  without  power 
to  thrill  her  mind.  Or  was  the  change  in  her  ?  Was  the 
voice  as  thunderous,  as  portentous  as  ever,  and  the 
alteration  in  her  spirit?  She  reflected  upon  her  conver- 
sation with  Williams,  the  cashier,  that  fateful  afternoon 
of  the  river  tragedy  a  year  before;  on  the  poignant 
emotions  stirred  in  her  by  the  catastrophe  and  by  the 
triumphant  shout  hurled  back  by  the  rock  at  the  siren's 
blast  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work.  A  year  ago!  How 
much  had  happened  in  the  twelve  months  since!  The 
Frances  Huff  at  the  desk  there  in  the  lumber  company 
office,  inexperienced,  impressionable,  throbbing  with 
sentiment,  was  in  truth  another  girl  from  the  Frances 
Huff  sitting  here.  Now  she  had  a  better  understanding 
of  realities,  of  the  relations  and  proportions  of  human 


1 86  CRYDER 

affairs,  of  the  inevitable  inequalities  in  society,  of  the 
value  of  property  and  the  importance  of  industry.  Mr. 
Patterson  and  Jack  had  made  it  all  very  plain  to  her  in 
discussions.  She  had  had  to  readjust  her  ideas  about 
things  and  reform  her  ideals,  but  now  her  view  was 
broader  and  more  accurate. 

Again  she  looked  at  the  clock.  Five  minutes  after 
one.  Why  didn't  Miss  Gardner  come  ?  She  had  told 
her  assistant  to  return  particularly  sharp  on  time  to- 
day. Schuyler  was  to  call  for  her  at  the  house  at  two 
o'clock  to  drive  her  to  the  celebration  of  the  opening 
of  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association's  new  mill  at 
the  edge  of  town,  where  he  was  to  speak.  When  he 
came  she  was  to  put  on  her  engagement  ring.  And  she 
yet  had  to  eat  her  lunch  and  change  her  dress  and  do  a 
hundred  other  things. 

Frances  rose  and  went  to  the  door  for  a  look  along 
the  street.  At  a  distance  she  beheld  Miss  Gardner,  her 
assistant,  strolling  with  a  youth  toward  the  library 
building,  laughing  and  chatting  as  if  it  made  not  a 
particle  of  difference  when  she  arrived. 

"Can't  think  of  anything  but  that  fellow  of  hers!" 
Frances  exclaimed,  indignantly.  "I  shall  certainly  say 
something  to  make  her  jump!" 

in 

A  visionary's  dream  had  come  true. 

On  a  tract  of  leased  ground  on  the  river  bank  just 
above  the  town  and  abutting  on  the  railroad's  right-of- 
way  there  stood  the  new  sawmill  of  the  Kettle  Creek 
Lumber  Association.  A  high  barb-wire  fence  enclosed 


THE  CELEBRATION  187 

the  tract,  into  which  a  railway  spur  had  been  built. 
In  the  river  before  the  plant  a  curving  line  of  piling 
connected  by  timbers  fenced  in  a  considerable  area  of 
water  and  formed  the  log  boom,  where  logs  of  the  drive 
being  speeded  down  the  stream  by  the  settlers  were 
already  beginning  to  amass;  and  from  this  boom  a 
chute  sloped  up  on  the  bank  to  the  long,  low,  unpainted 
building  that  housed  the  machinery.  By  this  building 
was  a  small  shed  over  which  rose  a  single  tall  smoke- 
stack. Not  far  from  the  yard  gate  was  a  little  box- 
like  structure  with  one  door  and  three  windows, 
painted  white  and  carrying  across  its  face  in  black 
lettering  the  name,  "KETTLE  CREEK  LUMBER  ASSOCI- 
ATION," while  on  the  door  was  a  sign,  " OFFICE— 
J.  PINNEY,  MANAGER." 

Early  in  September  of  the  previous  year  the  organ- 
ization of  the  timber  owners  on  Kettle  Creek  had  been 
effected.  In  exchange  for  deeds  to  their  land  the 
members  of  the  association  had  received  shares  of  stock 
in  the  company  to  the  amount  of  the  value  of  their  re- 
spective timber  holdings  as  determined  by  a  committee 
of  five  "estimators,"  chosen  from  among  their  number. 
Thereupon  the  deeds  had  been  deposited  with  the 
company's  notes  in  the  Citizens'  National  Bank  as 
collateral  security  for  a  loan  of  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  running  for  one  year,  as  made  by  the  associ- 
ation's officers  on  a  voted  resolution  of  the  stockholders 
and  in  accordance  with  the  by-laws  of  the  association's 
corporation  charter.  Concurrently,  and  by  similarly 
voted  authority,  an  issue  of  a  quarter  of  a  million 
dollars  in  bonds  was  made,  the  money  from  the  sale  of 


i88  CRYDER 

which  was  to  be  used  in  paying  the  bank  loan  and  for 
creating  a  reserve  fund  for  company  financing.  These 
various  steps,  from  the  incorporation  of  the  association 
to  the  drafting  of  the  deeds,  the  promissory  notes,  and 
the  bonds,  had  been  accomplished  under  the  direction 
of  Patterson,  whose  retention  as  legal  and  fiscal  adviser 
for  the  new  company  was  exacted  as  a  condition 
precedent  by  Emmons,  vice-president  of  the  bank,  in 
making  the  loan. 

Compared  to  the  extensive  plant  of  the  Hedley 
Lumber  Company  farther  up  the  river,  that  of  the 
association  was  small.  Naturally  the  limited  amount 
of  the  loan  determined  the  size  the  mill  should  be, 
though,  as  matters  turned  out,  it  was  larger  than  at 
first  had  been  considered,  since  Pinney  had  found  in 
Idaho  a  mill  for  sale  and  bought  its  machinery  at  a 
bargain.  Patterson  had  declared  this  a  first-rate 
stroke.  Still,  its  purchase,  transportation,  and  install- 
ing, together  with  the  first  year's  ground  rental  and  the 
creation  of  structures,  had  absorbed  sixty  thousand 
dollars;  the  winter's  logging  operations  another  twenty 
thousand;  and  the  cost  of  the  log  drive  was  eating  into 
what  was  left  of  the  company's  bank  balance.  It  was 
essential  to  begin  the  manufacture  and  sale  of  lumber 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 

During  the  winter  Patterson  had  negotiated  with 
various  financial  houses,  in  the  East  as  well  as  in  the 
West,  for  the  sale  of  the  bonds.  But  as  yet  they  were 
not  disposed  of.  The  Federal  Reserve  Bank  had 
tightened  up  money  rates  and  contracted  credit.  Busi- 
ness after  an  unprecedented  expansion  had  fallen  into 


THE  CELEBRATION  189 

the  dumps.  The  bond  market  was  torpid.  Neverthe- 
less, the  attorney  assured  the  directors  of  the  association 
that  he  was  confident  of  consummating  the  sale  in  time 
to  take  care  of  the  loan  when  it  fell  due.  They  need 
feel  no  alarm.  He  was  making  progress;  he  was  in 
touch  with  two  bond  houses  which  were  able  to  buy 
irrespective  of  tight  money  conditions,  though  of  course 
they  now  would  demand  a  larger  discount;  he  practi- 
cally was  ready  to  close  with  one  of  them.  A  dis- 
cussion of  certain  minor  points,  not  necessarily 
important,  involved  in  the  mortgage  protecting  the 
bonds  soon  would  be  satisfactorily  terminated.  Then 
the  transaction  could  be  completed.  Unless  some- 
thing totally  unforeseen  and  wholly  improbable  oc- 
curred there  would  be  no  hitch,  no  break  in  the 
negotiations. 

On  this  avouchment  the  company  directors  were 
forced  to  rely.  They  were  seven  in  number:  Pinney, 
Hollister,  Swanson,  Meek,  Finchette,  Edgecombe,  and 
Cryder.  The  last,  who  had  been  chosen  over  his 
protest  and  who,  ignoring  his  selection,  had  gone  off 
to  New  York  for  the  winter,  had,  on  his  return  in  the 
spring,  begun  to  act  with  the  others  in  the  direction  of 
affairs.  His  position  on  the  board  was  singular;  he 
owned  no  timber,  had  invested  no  money,  and  held  his 
place  by  virtue  of  one  share  of  stock  recorded  in  his 
favour  in  the  stock  register  in  order  that  he  might 
legally  qualify.  If  anything  were  needed  to  testify  to 
the  influence  he  exercised  on  Kettle  Creek  and  the 
secret  respect  for  his  abilities,  this  action  by  the  com- 
munity supplied  the  lack.  It  was  at  once  an  appeal 


190  CRYDER 

and  a  tribute.  It  implied  need  of  his  energy  and 
brains,  and  asserted  faith  in  his  integrity  and  talent. 
Only  a  man  of  stone  could  have  resisted  such  esteem. 
He  had  yielded — in  order  to  prevent  the  fool  Pinney,  if 
for  nothing  else,  from  making  hash  of  the  business,  he 
explained — and  now  was  a  leading  spirit  in  the  asso- 
ciation's affairs.  When  he  enlisted  in  an  enterprise, 
he  didn't  put  in  only  one  foot,  he  jumped  in  up  to  the 
ears,  by  the  lord!  And  he  would  pull  this  sawmill 
scheme  through  to  success  if  it  were  the  last  act  of  his 
life! 

He  had  opposed  the  manager  when  he  asked  the 
board  to  take  the  sale  of  the  bonds  out  of  Patterson's 
hands  and  authorize  him  to  go  to  New  York  and  find  a 
purchaser.  As  the  year  advanced,  Pinney  more  and 
more  criticized  the  lawyer's  deliberate  procedure  in  the 
bond  matter  and  more  and  more  became  nervous  and 
dogmatic.  He  now  was  living  in  Maronville,  having 
married  Myra  Nichols  and  taken  a  cottage  in  the 
quarter  of  town  where  the  plant  was  located;  his  salary 
as  manager  was  three  thousand  dollars  a  year;  and  he 
wore  a  new  black  suit  and  a  new  derby  hat  too  large  for 
his  head,  both  of  which,  in  spite  of  their  newness,  bore  a 
film  of  dust  from  tramping  about  the  sawmill  yard.  All 
winter  he  had  written  and  dispatched  great  quantities 
of  letters  to  prospective  lumber  dealers  soliciting  orders 
for  the  following  autumn,  with  nothing  in  particular  to 
show  for  his  efforts.  He  had  outlined  a  hundred 
advertising  schemes,  but  dropped  them  to  consider 
others.  He  had  a  mammoth  plan  for  securing  the 
entire  business  of  the  combined  farmers'  organizations 


THE  CELEBRATION  191 

of  the  country,  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  future  out- 
put of  the  plant,  in  every  particular  utterly  impractical. 
He  was  difficult  to  pin  down  to  details  and  was  forever 
absorbed  with  big  plans,  gigantic  campaigns  for  captur- 
ing markets,  vast  extensions  of  the  sawmill.  And  from 
the  first  he  had  fretted  that  the  disposal  of  the  bonds 
had  not  been  in  his  charge,  feeling  himself  alone  compe- 
tent to  handle  a  large  financial  transaction  and  con- 
stantly finding  fault  with  Patterson's  methods. 

From  Cryder  he  received  only  contempt.  Could  the 
surgeon  have  had  his  way,  Pinney  would  have  been 
kicked  out  altogether;  for  he  steadfastly  had  retained 
his  first  opinion  of  the  promoter.  The  man  lacked 
sound  business  principles,  was  incapable  of  persistent 
effort,  and  was  afflicted  by  delusions  of  grandeur, 
as  was  only  too  evident  in  his  preposterous  schemes 
relating  to  the  mill.  With  Cryder's  return  in  the  spring 
and  his  active  participation  in  the  Kettle  Creek  com- 
pany's affairs  there  had  developed  between  the  two  men 
a  sharp  difference  as  to  policy.  On  Pinney's  side  this 
speedily  became  a  feeling  of  personal  animosity.  He 
perceived  in  the  surgeon's  opposition  to  his  magnificent 
plans  only  a  selfish  desire  to  thwart  him,  to  keep  him 
down,  to  render  him  subordinate  in  the  association's 
management.  He  believed  himself  being  robbed  of 
rightful  powers;  he  foresaw  catastrophe  for  the  com- 
pany. Over  Cryder's  check  to  his  demand  that  the 
sale  of  bonds  be  put  in  his  hands  was  he  particularly 
sore. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  directors  in  the  office  building  a 
few  days  before  the  date  fixed  for  the  celebration  of  the 


192  CRYDER 

plant's  opening  his  resentment  flamed  out  when  Cryder 
refused  to  consider  the  matter  anew. 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  you  don't  want  our  bonds  sold," 
he  exclaimed, vindictively.  "You  know  Patterson  hasn't 
disposed  of  them  and  apparently  can't,  while  I  can.  Yet 
you're  determined  not  to  let  me.  If  our  company  is 
wrecked,  you  and  you  alone  will  be  responsible." 

Cryder  gave  him  a  surprised  stare.  Then  he  removed 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  replied  calmly:  "I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Patterson's  selection  as  fiscal  agent. 
Emmons  demanded  his  appointment  last  autumn  and 
you  all  agreed.  What  about  that?" 

"Patterson  has  failed,"  Pinney  snapped  back.  "So 
it's  time  to  take  the  bonds  away  from  him  and  let  me 
make  the  sale." 

"Oh,  you!"  The  surgeon's  tone  was  one  of  dis- 
gust. He  had  no  great  respect  for  Patterson's  ability, 
considering  the  lawyer  too  suave,  too  colourless  to  be  a 
man  of  force;  but  in  a  choice  between  him  and  Pinney  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  fling  his  influence  in  favour  of  the 
attorney.  And,  moreover,  what  was  to  be  done?  Had 
not  Emmons  dictated  Patterson's  appointment? 
"You've  a  notion  you're  a  Napoleon  of  finance,"  he 
continued,  "when  in  fact  you're  only  manager  of  a  two- 
by-four  sawmill  and  an  infernally  poor  one  at  that. 
Where's  all  the  business  you  boasted  you'd  get  ?  Here 
we  are  with  the  mill  ready  to  start  and  no  orders  yet 
booked.  No,  not  one.  If  you're  such  a  wonderful 
captain  of  industry  you  ought  to  have  at  least  one  little 
order  to  show  us.  Bah,  you  sell  bonds!  I  wouldn't 
let  you  try  to  sell  an  old  shirt  of  mine." 


THE  CELEBRATION  193 

Pinney  jumped  to  his  feet  and  in  nervous  excitement 
removed  and  replaced  his  hat. 

"Who  made  this  company  and  this  mill?"  he  ques- 
tioned, shrilly.  "I  did.  That  proves  my  right  to  sell 
the  bonds.  Who  made  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber 
Association,  I  say?  Answer  me  that." 

"The  Hedley  concern,  of  course,"  Cryder  responded, 
"by  refusing  to  buy  Kettle  timber  at  a  fair  price. 
Until  it  did  refuse  you  never  had  a  look-in.  You  just 
rode  in  on  the  backwash,  Pinney.  And  ever  since  that 
time  you've  been  slushing  around  in  a  lot  of  crazy 
schemes  that  haven't  a  ghost  of  a  chance  to  materialize 
when  you  should  have  been  grinding  out  some  real 
results.  Now  shut  up  about  those  bonds  and  tell  us 
about  the  arrangements  for  the  celebration.  That's 
something  to  the  point." 

"If  those  bonds  aren't  sold ': 

"Oh,  give  us  a  rest  on  that." 
—I  shall  hold  you  responsible." 

"All  right,  all  right,"  Cryder  replied,  impatiently. 
"Now  get  down  to  business." 

Pinney,  trembling  with  rage,  lifted  a  forefinger. 

"If  you  wreck  this  association — 

With  a  crash  Cryder  let  his  chair,  tilted  back,  drop 
upon  the  floor. 

"Meeting's  adjourned,"  he  exclaimed. 

IV 

Along  cement  walks  pedestrians  were  streaming  and 
in  the  streets  automobiles  whipped  the  dust  in  their 
passage,  converging  on  the  roadway  leading  to  the 


i94  CRYDER 

fenced  enclosure  of  the  Kettle  Creek  plant.  Maron- 
ville  conceived  itself  a  city,  but  under  its  pretensions 
its  spirit  was  yet  the  spirit  of  the  small  town — the 
spirit  that  still  could  quicken  at  the  visit  of  a  circus, 
expand  on  patriotic  holidays,  and  thrill  to  celebrations. 
The  settlers  from  Kettle  Creek,  except  the  men  working 
on  the  log  drive,  had  already  arrived,  having  made  a 
start  the  afternoon  before,  camping  on  the  way  for  the 
night,  coming  in  crowded  wagon-loads,  every  family, 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  down  to  the  smallest 
babe;  the  entire  community,  the  whole  settlement  from 
the  upper  end  of  the  valley  to  the  lower.  For  this  was 
their  affair,  their  celebration,  their  big  day.  Kettle 
Creek,  so  long  scorned  and  derided,  at  last  was  being 
recognized  for  what  it  was  worth  and  acquiring  im- 
portance. Maronville  was  turning  out  in  honour  of  the 
forest  folk. 

Before  the  fence  in  the  lower  part  of  the  grounds  the 
settlers'  wagons  were  lined  in  a  row  with  their  teams  tied 
to  rear  wheels.  The  settlers  and  their  families,  in  their 
best  clothes,  moved  restlessly  about  or  sat  in  the  scant 
shade  of  the  mill  building,  eating  popcorn,  peanuts, 
mushy  bananas,  candy,  ice-cream  cones,  purchased 
from  the  pop-corn  wagon  just  outside  the  gate  or  from 
venders  who  trundled  two-wheeled  carts  about  the 
grounds  continually  shouting  their  wares.  Or  they 
wandered  through  the  mill,  gazing  at  the  machinery, 
at  the  wheels  and  belts  and  saws,  at  the  log  resting  on 
the  carrier  platform  ready  to  be  sent  against  a  great 
circular  saw  when  the  Mayor  of  Maronville  pulled  a 
lever  officially  starting  the  machinery  in  motion  and  the 


THE  CELEBRATION  195 

plant  in  operation.  A  suppressed  excitement,  a  nervous 
expectation  prevailed  over  the  crowd  of  Kettle  Creekers, 
which  manifested  itself  in  grave  exchanges  of  talk 
among  the  men  or  suddenly  in  high-pitched  raucous 
laughter  at  some  joke,  in  impatient  boxing  of  young- 
sters' ears  by  the  women,  and  in  the  squalling  of  infants 
who  appeared  to  be  affected  by  the  general  spirit  of 
feverishness. 

By  a  quarter  to  three  a  mob  of  mingling  Maronville 
people  and  Kettle  Creekers  were  flowing  in  and  about 
the  sawmill  and  over  the  yard.  At  the  foot  of  the 
platform  erected  for  use  of  the  speakers,  covered  with 
pine  boughs  hauled  from  the  near-by  mountains  and 
wrapped  with  red-white-and-blue  bunting  and  deco- 
rated with  small  flags,  the  Maronville  Municipal  Band, 
of  thirty  pieces,  wearing  dark-green  gold-braided  uni- 
forms, burst  forth  into  a  lively  tune,  thus  at  once  at- 
tracting the  throng. 

Through  the  blares  of  the  horns  the  shouts  of  the 
peanut,  pop,  and  ice-cream  venders  could  be  heard. 
A  haze  of  dust  rose,  constantly  augmented  by  the 
arrival  of  automobiles,  which  took  up  position  in  rows 
that,  however,  were  continually  being  shifted  as  drivers 
sought  more  advantageous  locations.  Several  cars 
became  entangled,  resulting  in  an  angry  altercation 
among  their  occupants  which  could  be  heard  even  above 
the  music.  Occasionally  a  feminine  shriek  sounded  at 
a  prospective  collision.  The  confusion  increased,  the 
dust  was  steadily  churned  thicker,  the  sun  beat  down 
with  fiery  rays  on  the  new  buildings,  on  the  swarm  of 
automobiles,  on  the  host  of  Kettle  Creekers  and  towns- 


196  CRYDER 

men  and  ranchers  and  farmers  from  the  country  about 
who  had  driven  in  for  the  celebration. 

At  one  place  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  milling  about 
the  speaker's  stand  Doctor  Cryder,  wearing  a  palm- 
beach  suit,  canvas  shoes,  a  white  silk  shirt  with  attached 
turn-down  collar,  a  black  knitted  silk  scarf,  and  a  wide- 
brimmed  flexible  straw  hat,  as  he  moved  toward  the 
office  building  encountered  Minnie  Beeler  clinging  to 
the  arm  of  a  dapper,  blond  youth  of  about  twenty  years, 
by  the  name  of  Archie  Hay,  who  presided  at  the  soda 
fountain  in  the  Sherill  Drug  Store.  The  surgeon 
stopped,  a  pleased  look  on  his  face. 

"Well,  well,  Minnie,  I  haven't  seen  you  since  last 
fall,"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  hands.  "How  are  you? 
Hello,  boy.  Don't  you  steal  this  girl  without  letting 
me  know."  He  thrust  the  young  fellow  in  the  ribs  with 
thumb.  "I'm  her  guardian.  I'm  the  guardian  of  all 
the  orphans  from  Kettle  Creek.  Isn't  that  so,  Min- 
nie?" 

The  girl  was  blushing,  embarrassed  by  his  remark 
about  her  being  stolen  and  delighted  by  the  surgeon's 
attention. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  she.  "Though  I  ain't  needin' 
any." 

"Still  in  the  telephone  exchange?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  well,  I'll  bet  you're  the  one  I  heard  chewing 
gum  the  other  day  when  I  was  trying  to  get  a  number 
here  in  town." 

Minnie  giggled. 

"Wasn't,  neither.    Don't  you  try  to  kid  me,  Doctor." 


THE  CELEBRATION  197 

"All  right,  I  withdraw  the  accusation,"  said  he, 
wiping  his  neck  with  handkerchief.  "Feeling  sorry, 
I  suppose,  you're  not  of  age  so  you  can  put  your  timber 
claim  in  the  company." 

Of  all  the  holders  of  property  on  Kettle  Creek,  Minnie 
Beeler,  being  yet  a  minor,  alone  remained  out  of  the 
association.  Cryder  had  more  than  a  general  interest 
in  the  girl.  By  court  action  after  the  death  of  her 
mother  he  had  been  appointed  her  guardian.  He  had 
endeavoured  to  keep  track  of  her  doings  and  had  given 
her  advice,  usually  ignored. 

"Yes,  I  wish  I  could  put  it  in  this  very  day,"  she 
replied.  "Everybody  on  Kettle  Creek  will  get  rich 
now.  But  I'll  be  eighteen  next  year,  then  I'll  join." 
She  paused  and  exchanged  a  look  with  her  escort  who 
had  lighted  a  cigarette  and  waited  in  bored  silence. 
"Well,  I  guess  we  got  to  be  goin'  on  now,"  she  con- 
cluded. 

The  girl  and  youth  moved  away.  Cryder's  eyes 
followed  them.  Already  Minnie  had  changed  and 
acquired  a  town  air,  the  pert  and  superficial  gayness  of 
the  ignorant  aspirant  to  swelldom. 

Cryder  started  on  toward  the  office,  but  changing  his 
mind  began  to  saunter  about  on  the  edge  of  the  throng. 
He  really  had  nothing  to  go  to  the  office  for.  Like  the 
rest  of  those  responsible  for  the  outcome  of  the  cele- 
bration, he  was  apprehensive  lest  something  go  wrong, 
lest  there  be  a  hitch  in  the  programme,  and  especially 
lest  Pinney,  who  was  to  announce  the  speakers,  should 
lose  his  head  and  make  an  ass  of  himself.  Cryder  per- 
ceived that  the  personages  delegated  to  make  remarks 


198  CRYDER 

or  addresses  and  the  guests  selected  to  occupy  places 
on  the  rostrum  were  already  beginning  to  mount  the 
platform  and  settle  themselves  on  seats  in  the  rows 
arranged  under  the  screen  of  boughs  with  the  usual 
uncertainty  and  confusion.  "Why  doesn't  the  fool 
take  off  that  hat!"  the  surgeon  growled  to  himself. 
Pinney's  black  derby,  pulled  tight  over  his  ears,  could 
be  seen  moving  about,  now  here,  now  there,  among  the 
men  and  women  assembling  on  the  platform.  Cryder 
was  sure  the  fellow  would  place  everyone  in  wrong 
seats.  It  was  planned  that  the  board  of  directors 
should  sit  on  the  front  row  with  the  speakers,  but  the 
surgeon  perceived  that  a  number  of  Kettle  Creekers  who 
should  not  be  on  the  platform  at  all  had  gone  up  and 
planted  themselves  there  under  Pinney's  guidance — 
Pinney's  relations,  the  Martins,  and  the  McMurtries, 
and  the  Goldbergs,  and  Nell  Boggs  with  her  idiot  boy — 
and  that,  moreover,  the  seats  for  the  speakers  were 
occupied,  leaving  the  mayor,  the  minister  of  the  Presby- 
terian church  who  was  to  open  the  ceremonies  with 
prayer,  Patterson,  and  the  president  of  the  Commercial 
Club  waiting  for  places. 

"Just  what  might  have  been  expected  with  that  crazy 
boob  in  charge!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  was  to  sit  with  the  other  directors,  but  now  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  keep  off  the  platform  altogether. 
It  was  Pinney's  show  and  let  the  bungler  run  it.  Never 
saw  such  a  mixed-up  mess !  He'd  be  hanged  if  he  would 
have  a  part  in  it.  Besides,  Pinney  probably  had  for- 
gotten to  make  sure  that  the  engineer  had  steam  to 
start  the  machinery  at  the  proper  minute  when  the 


THE  CELEBRATION  199 

speaking  was  finished  and  the  official  party  went  into 
the  mill  for  the  mayor  to  pull  the  lever  setting  the  plant 
in  operation.  Very  likely  that  part  had  been  over- 
looked by  the  manager,  the  paranoiac!  It  would  be 
exactly  like  him  to  have  neglected  that  important 
detail.  If  the  machinery  didn't  start,  if  that  part  ended 
in  a  fizzle,  it  was  what  was  to  be  expected.  And  there- 
upon Cryder  went  striding  off  toward  the  engine- 
house. 

By  now  the  band  had  ceased  playing  and  was  sorting 
and  distributing  music  sheets  for  the  next  number. 
With  the  cessation  of  the  band's  strains  the  hum  of  the 
crowd,  the  steady  murmur  of  voices  interspersed  with 
shouts,  cries,  laughter,  the  wail  of  babes,  the  honking 
of  automobile  horns,  the  calls  of  the  venders  and  shrill 
squeals  from  girls,  once  more  swelled  forth.  Here  and 
there  throughout  the  shifting  mob  sounded  shrieked 
complaints  or  yelled  greetings. 

"Look  out,  you!  Who  you  shoving?"  barked  some- 
one. 

Big  Jim  and  Joe  Streeter,  who  had  sneaked  ofF  from 
the  log  drive  to  celebrate  in  their  own  fashion,  flushed 
and  exhaling  an  odour  of  whisky,  pushed  and  elbowed 
their  way  through  the  throng,  thrusting  men  and  women 
alike  aside  from  their  path  and  leaving  behind  them  a 
swarm  of  angry  and  remonstrating  spectators. 

A  crowd  of  young  fellows  and  girls  continually  kept 
the  cry  going,  directed  at  the  band,  "Give  us  another, 
give  us  another." 

In  one  place  a  group  of  Kettle  Creekers  were  calling 
to  another  group  across  intervening  heads. 


200  CRYDER 

"See  the  Goldbergs  up  there.     Ain't  that  nerve?" 

"Look  at  Myra,  too,  in  that  new  dress  and  hat.  All 
stuck-up  since  she  married  Pinney  and  come  to  town 
to  live.  Wouldn't  hardly  speak  to  us  to-day." 

"They  say  she's  tryin'  to  be  a  sassiety  bug,  wantin' 
to  go  with  the  swell  town  folks." 

"Reckon  she  won't  make  it." 

"They  say  she's  spendin'  Pinney 's  salary  like  water 
tryin'  to  be  somebody." 

A  number  of  local  business  men  were  talking. 

"Good  thing  for  Maronville,  this  new  mill,  eh?" 

"Great.  Spokane  best  watch  out.  We're  coming 
fast  and  soon  will  be  crowding  her." 

"Don't  know  of  a  city  growing  like  ours." 

"No,  neither  do  I." 

"Well,  thought  we'd  better  drop  around  this  after- 
noon. Believe  in  encouraging  new  industries." 

"So  do  I." 

"Yes,  sure  do." 

"Got  to  do  it  to  keep  up  the  spirit,"  said  another. 
"Everybody  has  to  help." 

"That's  the  idea,  that's  what  makes  a  city,"  a  fourth 
exclaimed.  "When  everyone's  a  booster,  then  she  goes 
ahead." 

"Don't  really  care  for  the  celebration  part  myself, 
but  feel  I  should  turn  out  just  the  same,"  one  stated. 

"No,  don't  care  for  it,  either.  But  it  goes  fine  with 
the  crowd."  The  speaker  waved  a  hand  at  the  mob. 

"Yes,  they  like  it,"  said  the  third. 

"Amuses  'em." 

"And  keeps  them  feeling  good." 


THE  CELEBRATION  201 

"Sure.     Sure  thing." 

The  band  struck  up  another  lively  air.  The  throng 
stilled,  then  began  to  stir  again,  to  talk,  to  shout. 
Youths  swayed  and  wiggled  in  dance  movements,  girls 
hummed  the  tune  being  played  and  nodded  their  heads. 
The  sound  of  hundreds  of  voices  blended  in  an  indescrib- 
able Babel  dulled  if  it  did  not  drown  the  quick  synco- 
pated music  of  the  band. 

Under  the  smelting  of  the  sun's  rays  pitch  was  oozing 
from  the  new  boards  of  the  building.  The  dust  was  hot 
underfoot.  From  the  congested  mass  of  human  beings 
there  issued  a  faint  and  unpleasant  smell,  a  mingled 
effluvia  of  things  and  people,  of  hot  fruit  and  buttered 
popcorn  and  dusty  clothes  and  sweaty  bodies.  Now 
and  again  a  puff  of  air  from  the  river  bore  a  fresher, 
purer  breath,  then  once  more  the  emanating  odour  of 
the  crowd  became  noticeable. 

On  the  platform  Pinney  at  last  had  succeeded  in 
establishing  order  and  seating  those  who  had  ascended 
to  the  elevated  place  of  honour.  A  pine  table  covered 
with  the  American  flag,  on  which  reposed  a  pitcher  of 
ice  water  and  a  glass,  stood  at  the  front  near  the  edge. 
The  dignitaries  nad  been  placed  on  the  first  row.  In 
the  centre  was  the  mayor  of  Maronville,  whose  name 
was  Jackson,  in  his  private  capacity  owner  of  the  Jack- 
son Furniture  Company,  a  short  rotund  man  with  a 
round  bald  head  and  close-clipped  gray  moustache, 
sitting  with  hands  folded  across  his  stomach  and  con- 
versing with  Patterson  at  his  left;  beyond  Patterson  the 
minister,  a  thin  tall  gentleman  in  a  black  double- 
breasted  coat  and  wearing  a  straight  collar  and  white 


202  CRYDER 

lawn  bow  tie;  next  to  him  the  president  of  the  Commer- 
cial Club,  Jay  Carmichael,  imported  from  Spokane  to 
fill  the  position,  experienced  in  booster  campaigns,  a 
young-old  man  of  forty,  a  hustler,  shrewd,  smiling,  full 
of  "pep";  and  at  his  left  the  Goldbergs,  who,  once 
seated,  had  tenaciously  refused  to  move  back.  At  the 
mayor's  right  was  Pinney's  place,  at  the  moment  empty, 
as  Pinney  was  nervously  conferring  with  Hollister  in  a 
whisper  two  rows  in  the  rear;  by  Pinney's  chair  was 
seated  his  wife  in  a  pink  dress  and  an  immense  pink  hat, 
very  pink  of  face  also  because  of  the  heat  and  the  excite- 
ment and  exhaling  a  strong  verbena  scent  (which  once 
caused  Patterson  to  lean  forward  in  order  to  trace  its 
source),  and  complacently  talking  with  Arnold  Meek  at 
her  side.  Beyond  the  grave,  bearded  old  man  sat 
Swanson,  Finchette,  and  Edgecombe. 

Behind  the  first  row  were  five  more  rows  of  chairs, 
where  sat  some  Kettle  Creekers  who  had  come  up  un- 
invited and  some  of  the  townsmen,  prominent  for  one 
reason  or  another,  who  had  been  asked  to  sit  on  the 
platform.  A  number  of  citizens  arriving  at  the  last 
moment  had  found  the  seats  all  occupied,  wandered 
about  the  platform  seeking  a  place,  and  finally  had  gone 
off  again,  outwardly  annoyed  but  at  heart  relieved  at 
escaping  platform  confinement. 

Meanwhile  the  band  tooted  and  brayed  a  third 
selection.  The  crowd  talked  and  laughed  and  sweated 
and  waited.  At  a  quarter  after  three  o'clock  Pinney 
resumed  his  seat,  conferred  with  Arnold  Meek  and  the 
mayor,  and  removed  his  derby  hat,  placing  it,  on  the 
latter's  suggestion,  under  his  chair.  The  band  con- 


THE  CELEBRATION  203 

eluded  the  piece  it  was  playing.  Pinney  went  forward 
to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  where,  resting  on  a  knee,  he 
conferred  with  the  band  leader.  Afterward  he  rose, 
poured  and  drank  a  tumbler  of  water,  glanced  nervously 
over  the  crowd  which  gradually  grew  quieter  as  people 
cried  "Hush,  hush,"  craned  his  chin  over  his  collar,  con- 
sulted a  paper  he  held,  and  then  lifted  a  hand  for 
attention. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen "  he  began,  in  a  weak  voice. 

From  the  border  of  the  crowd  and  from  the  occupants 
of  the  automobiles  beyond  came  cries  of  "Louder, 
louder."  He  lifted  his  paper  and  a  second  time  stared 
at  its  contents. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  band  will  play " 

"Louder,  louder!" 

"Will  play  'America'  and  you — you  will " 

As  he  hesitated  there  broke  from  a  distant  group  of 
irreverent  youths  a  shout  of  "'Rah  for  America!  'Rah 
for  Kettle  Creek!  H'rah  for  everything!" 

Pinney  hitched  his  shoulders  and  stared  fixedly  at  his 
notes. 

"And  you  will  kindly  join  in  the  music,"  he  con- 
cluded, "singing  in  unison — in " 

"'Rah  for  unison!" 

"Our  national  anthem,  our  beloved  battle-song, 
'America,'"  he  ended.  He  raised  his  hand,  signalling  to 
the  band  leader. 

Patterson  turned  to  the  mayor  with  a  slight  apolo- 
getic smile;  the  manager's  error  of  designation  in  re- 
spect to  the  song  amused  him. 

The  band  leader  lifted  his  baton.     The  first  notes 


204  CRYDER 

of  the  old  and  solemn  air  sounded.  Those  on  the  front 
row  immediately  started  to  stand,  and  imitating  them 
those  seated  on  the  rows  behind.  In  the  crowd  men  re- 
moved their  hats.  The  hum  of  talk,  the  cries,  the  shouts 
died  out.  As  the  strains  came  sweetly  from  the  instru- 
ments the  throng  was  still,  mute,  with  faces  uplifted. 

All  at  once  a  woman  began  to  sing  in  a  clear,  high 
soprano  voice.  Others  joined  in — men's  voices, 
women's  voices,  youths',  girls',  and  children's  voices. 
All  were  singing.  All  knew  the  tune  if  not  the  words. 
All  during  the  war  so  recently  ended  had  been  stirred 
by  the  spirit  of  the  piece.  The  mirth  and  levity  for 
a  moment  subsided  and  the  hearts  of  the  gathered 
people  answered  to  its  lofty  sentiment.  Maronville 
and  Kettle  Creek,  the  song  was  for  both  and  in  the  soul 
of  both;  for  of  such  as  they  was  America. 


An  hour  later  Cryder,  moving  in  front  of  the  auto- 
mobiles at  a  sauntering  pace  with  no  particular  aim, 
exchanging  greetings  with  parties  of  his  acquaintance 
seated  in  cars  close  at  hand  or  waving  a  hand  at  others 
more  distant,  pausing  now  and  again,  loitering,  at 
length  came  unexpectedly  on  Frances  Huff  in  the 
lawyer's  runabout  near  one  end  of  the  front  row  of 
machines.  Under  its  low  brown  canvas  hood  she  was 
sheltered  from  the  sun;  and  in  her  thin  white  dress, 
short-sleeved  and  open  at  the  neck,  and  wearing  no  hat, 
she  appeared  cool,  fresh,  and  girlish. 

Their  eyes  met.  Without  deliberate  rudeness  he 
could  not  pass  by. 


THE  CELEBRATION  205 

"Well,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Huff?"  he  said,  lifting 
his  hat  and  inwardly  cursing  his  luck  at  having  stumbled 
on  the  one  person  in  the  whole  crowd  whom  he  wished 
to  avoid. 

Frances  put  out  a  hand. 

"How  do  you  do,  Doctor,"  she  answered.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  stop  for  a  moment  and  tell  me  all  the  news 
of  Kettle  Creek  ? "  At  the  same  time,  by  an  impulse  she 
would  have  found  difficult  to  explain,  she  dropped  her 
left  hand  with  its  new  ring  out  of  his  view. 

"Certainly.  Wouldn't  think  of  passing  without 
speaking,"  he  replied,  shaking  hands.  "However, 
you've  all  the  news  of  Kettle  Creek  right  here  before 
your  eyes.  You're  looking  well.  In  charge  of  the 
library,  I  understand.  Decided  to  become  one  of  us  out 
here  after  all  instead  of  returning  East,  did  you?" 

"Yes.  But  that  isn't  important.  Tell  me  what  has 
been  happening  up  in  the  woods.  On  hot  days  like  this 
I  wish  I  were  up  there  in  the  timber.  I  can  shut  my 
eyes  and  just  smell  the  pines.  How  is  Mrs.  Mercer? 
And  little  Amy?  I  haven't  heard  a  word  of  either 
since  I  left." 

"Amy  went  home  quite  recovered.  I  sometimes 
see  her  when  I'm  up  at  Porcupine  Hill.  Amy  calls  you 
the  'hospital  lady.'"  Cryder  stood  with  a  foot  resting 
on  the  running-board  and  a  hand  grasping  the  edge  of 
the  car  door,  while  he  regarded  Frances  with  a  thought- 
ful air.  "Amy  was  right,"  he  added.  "You're  the 
hospital  lady  to  all  of  us  who  were  there — and  the  place 
never  has  been  quite  the  same  since,  if  I  may  say  so. 
You  left  something  and  took  away  something." 


206  CRYDER 

He  turned  from  her  and  gazed  off  across  the  heads 
of  the  crowd  toward  the  flag-decorated  stand  where 
Patterson  was  speaking. 

Leaning  back  in  her  seat  Frances  studied  his  face 
with  its  big  brow  and  thick  nose  and  aggressive  mouth 
about  which  the  lines  had  deepened;  and  noted  a  subtle 
change  in  his  mien  that  could  have  come  only  from 
some  inward  transformation.  His  countenance  was 
graver,  less  self-assured,  and  seemed  to  reflect  a  patience 
of  spirit  that  previously  had  been  lacking. 

"  Kettle  Creek's  timber  troubles  appear  to  be  solved 
at  last,"  she  said,  presently.  "And  everyone  wishes  the 
new  company  good  luck.  You're  a  member  of  its 
board  of  directors,  I  understand." 

"They  dragged  me  into  it  by  the  neck,"  he  replied. 

"If  you  thought  they  needed  you,  you  wouldn't  re- 
fuse, of  course.  That  wouldn't  be  like  you." 

"Well,  with  Pinney  in  charge  they  require  someone 
to  act  as  a  brake.  If  I  had  my  way  he'd  be  fired,  but 
he  and  his  relations  have  enough  influence  among  the 
stockholders  to  keep  him  in.  They  claim  he  made  the 
company  and  that  it  would  be  base  ingratitude  to  let 
him  out.  There's  just  enough  truth  in  their  assertion 
to  give  colour  to  their  argument,  and  no  more — and 
Kettle  Creekers  know  nothing  of  business.  His  wild 
talk  gets  by  with  them.  So  I  do  the  next  best  thing 
and  keep  his  hands  off"  the  bank  account." 

"Will  you  have  the  scientific  lumbering  at  Kettle 
Creek  which  you  used  to  declare  was  necessary?" 
Frances  asked. 

"I  hope  so.     The  past  season's  cut  was  made  at  the 


THE  CELEBRATION  207 

lower  end  of  the  valley  and  was  no  better  than  any 
lumber  company's.  But  I've  been  hammering  the 
idea  into  the  directors'  heads  that  skinning  the  forest 
is  killing  the  goose  that  lays  the  egg.  I've  shown  them 
that  there's  plenty  of  timber  for  years  without  cutting 
small  stuff.  They've  agreed  to  follow  my  plan  here- 
after." 

"Then  the  forest  will  continue  to  stand?" 
"Yes.  Only  selected  trees  will  be  felled  each  season, 
though  Pinney's  fighting  me  on  the  matter.  You 
can't  change  a  fool  and  he  wants  to  be  a  lumber  baron 
and  a  financier.  He's  crazy.  But  I've  won  out  on 
the  point.  Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  hold  them  to  it!" 
His  eyes  began  to  glow  and  his  mouth  to  harden.  "I 
propose  to  have  our  company  demonstrate  what 
lumbermen  ought  to  have  seen  all  along.  We're  going 
to  choose  only  the  biggest  trees  and  let  the  rest  grow. 
We're  going  to  log  the  stuff  right,  avoid  waste,  prevent 
fire,  and  keep  the  forest  as  an  asset  for  the  company  and 
as  a  public  benefit.  I've  a  lot  of  other  ideas,  too,  which 
I'll  persuade  the  directors  to  adopt  in  time." 

From  the  platform  Patterson's  voice  floated  to  their 
ears  during  the  pause  that  ensued,  clear  and  vibrant, 
uttering  well-rounded  phrases  and  sentences  in  melli- 
fluous tones.  He  was  descanting  upon  the  importance 
of  industry  and  trade  to  the  nation,  upon  the  significant 
commercial  role  assumed  by  America  and  the  benefits 
to  accrue  to  the  world  through  the  employment  of  the 
continent's  raw  resources,  man  power,  and  brains. 
Couched  in  felicitous  form  his  statements  were  pleasing 
to  the  ear  and  flattering  to  the  imagination.  At  the 


208  CRYDER 

end  of  a  rhetorical  passage  ending  in  a  climax  he  re- 
ceived a  round  of  hand-clapping  in  which  the  mayor  and 
the  president  of  the  Commercial  Club  led  off. 

"Why  is  it  that  public  speakers  always  hand  out  a 
lot  of  glittering  generalities?"  Cryder  remarked.  "All 
that  stuff  he's  talking  is  hoary  with  age.  Here  is  a  live 
subject,  Kettle  Creek  and  its  cooperative  mill.  The 
people  are  poor  and  ignorant  and  they've  been  forced 
to  saw  lumber  because  they  had  no  market.  Their 
lives  are  wrapped  up  in  the  project  now.  They're 
ready  to  spend  sweat  and  blood  to  make  it  go,  as  shown 
by  the  way  they  went  at  the  logging  last  winter  and  at 
the  drive  this  summer.  They've  started  out  in  the  face 
of  a  money  stringency  and  the  depression  following 
from  the  war.  They've  little  money,  no  experience  in 
industry,  no  real  friends;  only  their  timber,  their 
mortgaged  mill,  their  energy,  their  faith  and  their  need. 
Against  them  are  powerful  unscrupulous  competitors, 
whom  they'll  have  to  buck.  There's  something  to 
make  a  red-hot  speech  about  in  order  to  enlist  the  sup- 
port of  this  community.  If  I  were  up  there,  I  could  tell 
them  things!  And  Patterson  doesn't  see  it.  He  talks 
all  that  bosh  about  America's  trade  and  commerce — as 
useless  as  sand  in  the  Sahara  and  as  remote  as  the  stars. 
Words,  words,  words — sound,  sound,  sound.  Nothing 
else." 

"If  you  think  so,  why  don't  you  say  what  ought  to  be 
said?"  Frances  exclaimed,  all  at  once  piqued  at  this 
disparagement  of  her  fiance. 

Cryder  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  speak  in  public.     On  the  platform  looking 


THE  CELEBRATION  209 

at  a  crowd  I'm  dumb.  My  knees  shake  under  me. 
You  wouldn't  think  it,  but  that's  the  mortal  truth. 
Stage  fright  bowls  me  over — and  so  Kettle  Creek  has 
no  one  to  speak  for  her  and  we  all  come  here  and  go 
through  this  mimicry  of  a  celebration;  and  Kettle 
Creekers  believe  that  something  big  is  taking  place 
when  nothing  at  all  is  occurring  and  when — oh,  well, 
what's  the  use  of  talking  about  it?" 

Patterson's  voice  continued  to  lull  their  ears.  The 
attorney  was  reciting  the  blessings  of  an  America  full 
of  teeming  factories  and  mills,  of  farms  and  blossoming 
homesteads,  of  prosperous  villages  and  towns  and 
cities.  He  was  reiterating  the  wonder  of  its  yet  un- 
developed resources  and  the  manifold  opportunities 
presented  to  its  industrious  and  law-abiding  citizens. 
He  emphasized  the  need  for  order,  for  respect  for  the 
established  institutions  and  for  the  traditions  moulding 
our  government.  He  described  the  respective  sphere 
of  labour  and  of  capital.  And  suddenly  Frances, 
with  a  sinking  heart,  realized  that  she  had  heard  it  all 
before  a  score  of  times,  that  the  thought  was  too 
obviously  true  to  have  individual  interest  and  that 
Patterson's  speech  for  the  most  part  consisted  of  only 
pleasant  platitudes.  Of  Kettle  Creek  he  said  nothing — 
and  nothing  for  Kettle  Creek.  In  vain  she  waited  for 
the  utterance  of  words  of  fire  that,  like  Cryder,  she 
sensed  could  and  should  have  been  spoken. 

She  gazed  at  the  lawyer  enunciating  his  agreeable 
and  familiar  phrases,  gracefully  gesturing,  using  his 
tones  like  the  skillfully  modulated  notes  of  an  instru- 
ment, and  sought  to  discover  in  him  the  force  and  the 


210  CRYDER 

restrained  power  which  hitherto  she  had  ascribed  to 
his  personality.  Almost  with  a  feeling  of  desperation 
she  strove  to  find  it — and  every  instant  with  an  increas- 
ing disappointment  and  distress  of  spirit.  It  was  lack- 
ing. The  man  she  was  to  marry  had  graces  of  manner 
and  speech,  but  not  the  strength,  not  the  vision,  not  the 
clarion  shout  to  lift  hearts  and  to  fire  souls! 

A  man,  sunburnt  and  unshaven,  wearing  an  old  hat, 
a  shirt  stained  with  dust  and  sweat,  the  bleached 
shortened  overalls  and  high  laced  shoes  of  a  log-driver, 
came  pushing  through  people  to  the  spot  where  Cryder 
stood. 

"Doc,  I  been  huntin'  all  over  the  place  for  you,"  he 
exclaimed,  catching  the  surgeon's  arm.  "You're 
wanted  at  camp." 

"What's  the  matter,  Cardey?" 

"A  couple  of  men  hurt.  Our  men  and  the  Hedley 
crew  have  been  fighting.  Their  drive's  come  down  on 
us  and  now  they're  makin'  us  all  the  trouble  they  can, 
claiming  our  logs." 

"Anybody  hurt  badly?" 

"One  of  ours,  Tom  McMurtrie,  has  a  busted  arm; 
and  two  or  three  of  the  boys  is  scratched.  The  other 
fellows  got  the  worst  of  it.  We  cleaned  'em.  One  of 
'em  had  his  head  caved  in  when  Nick  landed  on  him 
with  a  peavey.  I  guess  he's  dead  by  now." 

"One  of  them  dead?"  Cryder  exclaimed.  "Oh,  lord! 
It'll  be  a  fight  to  a  finish." 

"They  started  it,"  the  man  declared,  savagely. 
"They  been  lookin'  for  trouble  ever  since  their  first 
logs  caught  up  with  us  Wagner  give  'em  orders  to  go 


THE  CELEBRATION  211 

right  through  us  with  their  drive,  we  heard,  and  that 
meant  taking  ours  with  theirs.  They  came  lookin'  for 
a  fight  deliberate,  Doc.  There  never  was  any  question 
about  the  logs  we  were  working  on  bein'  ours,  for  we 
been  cleaning  up  for  a  week  on  that  stretch  of  river  at 
the  Barnstetter  ranch  where  the  shallows  is." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Cryder  stated,  with  a  nod.  "There 
wasn't  a  log  of  the  Hedley  drive  there  when  I  was  at  the 
place  day  before  yesterday." 

"Well,  their  logs  are  comin'  down  now  and  half  their 
crew  showed  up  this  morning  claimin'  everything  as 
theirs  and  of  course  we  called  in  all  the  boys.  Then 
they  tried  to  drive  us  off  and  the  scrap  started.  They 
was  the  first  to  use  peaveys,  too.  Two  fellows  were 
tryin'  to  down  Nick  when  he  dropped  one  of  'em  with 
his  pole  and — well,  we  drove  'em  off." 

"I'll  go  up  at  once.     Where's  Nick?     Still  there?" 

"He  was  gettin'  ready  to  skip  out  when  he  saw  the 
feller  he  hit  was  dyin'." 

"The  worst  thing  he  could  do." 

"He  said  they'd  never  get  him  into  no  prison  and 
went  to  packin'  his  bed-roll." 

Cryder  pointed  toward  the  stand. 

"Wait  till  the  speaking  is  finished  and  get  hold  of 
Hollister  and  Swanson  and  tell  them,"  he  directed. 
"Then  go  back  to  camp.  We  need  every  man  there 
now." 

The  messenger  started  off.  Cryder  looked  at  Frances 
with  a  countenance  heavy  with  concern. 

"The  Hedley  people  couldn't  leave  us  in  peace,"  he 
said,  bitterly. 


212  CRYDER 

"But — surely  they  wouldn't "  she  began. 

"You  heard  what  he  said,"  the  surgeon  replied. 
"Wagner  has  rushed  his  drive  along  and  strung  it  down 
as  fast  and  as  far  as  possible  to  make  complications. 
And  now  that  he's  stirred  up  bad  blood  he'll  try  to  tie 
us  up  by  injunctions  or  something  to  cripple  us  and 
break  our  company.  You'll  see.  All  the  money  and 
influence  at  his  command  will  be  used  to  make  us  out 
criminals  and  outlaws  interfering  with  his  legal  pursuit 
of  business.  It's  the  old  game,  the  strong  seeking  to 
crush  the  weak.  He  planned  it  'deliberate,'  as  Cardey 
said.  He  knew  we  were  opening  the  plant  to-day  with 
a  celebration  and  he  let  loose  his  gang  this  morning  for 
that  very  reason.  It  was  too  much  to  expect  that  we 
should  have  clear  sailing,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  can't 
say  any  more,  for  your  brother's  in  with  Wagner. 
But  I  tell  you  Kettle  Creek  will  fight  and  fight  hard 
once  it  is  stirred  up.  I'll  do  my  best  to  hold  them 
back,  but  I  can't  do  everything.  There  are  times 
when  men  must  fight  for  their  own  if  they're  men. 
All  that  Kettle  Creek  asked  was  a  chance,  a  fair 
chance." 

Turning  on  heel  he  swung  an  arm  toward  the  plat- 
form where  Patterson's  figure  still  occupied  the  open 
space  and  where  his  voice  floated  forth  in  smooth  and 
unctuous  sentences. 

"Up  the  river  men  fight  and  die,  and  here  we  have 
this  circus  and  this  twaddle,"  said  Cryder.  "Good 
God,  is  there  no  such  thing  as  right  and  justice?  Or 
is  this  only  a  land  of  savages  and  simpletons,  after 
all?" 


THE  CELEBRATION  213 

He  strode  away  toward  the  gate,  where  he  had  left 
his  car.  Frances  strained  her  eyes  after  his  big  tall 
figure  until  at  length  it  was  lost  in  the  throng. 

With  a  constriction  of  heart  she  leaned  back  and 
closed  her  eyes.  Cryder's  impassioned  utterance  yet 
clanged  in  her  ears,  and  through  her  mind  passed  the 
picture  of  the  rushing  river  with  its  logs  and  struggling 
men.  One  was  dead.  Another,  his  slayer,  was  fleeing. 
Nick,  good-natured,  grinning,  complacent  Nick,  now  a 
fugitive,  now  a  man  in  hiding  whom  before  night  pur- 
suers would  be  seeking  as  dogs  hunt  a  wild  beast !  Oh, 
the  pity  of  it! 

All  at  once  she  leaned  forward  to  listen.  From  the 
speakers'  stand  came  a  liquid  and  resonant  voice  "... 
and  it  should  ever  be  borne  in  mind  that  while  all 
due  must  be  rendered  to  the  great  and  noble  working 
division  of  our  citizens  in  its  participation  in  industry, 
in  the  upbuilding  of  our  commercial  fabric,  a  no  less 
commendation  should  be  given  to  that  equally  im- 
portant portion  of  our  citizenship  comprising  the 
leaders  and  directors.  I  mean  the  men  who  plan  and 
organize,  who  provide  brains  and  capital,  who  are  the 
officers  of  the  great  army  of  labour,  and  who,  if  I  may 
modestly  state  as  much,  are  inspired  by  as  unselfish,  as 
patriotic,  as  lofty  motives  in  their  efforts  and  toil,  by  as 
generous  sentiments  in  their  treatment  of  workmen  and 
in  their  desires  for  the  welfare  of  the  public  and  for  the 
happiness  of  humanity  .  .  ." 

She  sank  back.  Her  eyes  blurred  and  there  was  a 
choking  in  her  throat.  His  words  were  like  the  sound 
of  hollow  brass. 


214  CRYDER 

This  throng,  this  celebration,  this  band-playing  and 
speaking,  what  a  dreadful  farce!  Could  not  people 
see  that  it  was  so?  Could  they  not  realize  that  under 
this  verbal  froth  violence  and  hatred  and  covetousness 
and  brutal  force  were  stalking  to  a  grim  tragedy? 


CHAPTER  II 
ENMITY 


THROUGH  the  open  windows  of  Mrs.  Nichols's  cabin 
came  strains  of  singing  from  the  western  edge  of  the 
clearing  where  in  the  afternoon  shade  of  the  forest 
Arnold  Meek  conducted  a  Sabbath  service.  On  the 
bed  where  she  lay  Nick's  mother  heard  them.  Doctor 
Cryder  standing  by  one  of  the  windows,  shaking  some 
white  tablets  from  a  vial  into  his  palm,  heard  them,  too, 
and  could  distinguish  the  shrill  quavering  notes  of  the 
tired  women  there,  the  deeper  singing  tones  of  a  few 
men  and  many  childish  trebles.  "At  the  cross,  at  the 
cross "  went  the  singing. 

Mrs.  Nichols  moved  restlessly  on  the  bed  and  gazed 
at  the  surgeon  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"...    where  I  first  saw  the  light, 
And  the  burden  of  my  heart  rolled  away.     .     .     ." 

Cryder  dropped  the  tablets  into  a  glass  of  water  to 
dissolve. 

"It  never  rolls  away,"  she  muttered. 
"What?" 

"The  burden  they're  singing  about." 

215 


216  CRYDER 

To  that  he  made  no  response,  but  began  slowly  to 
crush  the  tablets  in  the  water  with  a  spoon. 

".     .     .     .     by  faith  I  received  my  sight, 
And  now  I  am  happy  all  the  day!" 

The  outer  leaf  of  a  calendar  on  the  wall,  the  July  leaf, 
fluttered  a  little  as  it  was  stirred  by  a  puff  of  hot  air  that 
entered  the  room.  A  large-bodied  fly  was  buzzing  up 
and  down  the  logs  of  one  wall.  From  behind  the  store 
sounded  faintly  the  crowing  of  a  rooster. 

Cryder  looked  toward  the  bed,  continuing  his  work 
with  the  spoon. 

"Did  you  hear  from  Myra?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.     She  isn't  coming." 

"I  hoped  she  would." 

"She  wrote  me  a  letter,  saying  in  it  a  wife's  place  was 
with  her  husband.  Guess  she  didn't  want  to  come 
away  from  town." 

"Very  likely." 

"Seems  like  she  might  have  come  when  I'm  so  poorly. 
Pinney  could  get  along  awhile  without  her." 

"Of  course,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is  children  when  they  grow  up 
forget  all  their  mothers  have  done  for  them.  'Pears  like 
they  ought  to  remember.  But  ever  since  she  got  big 
enough  to  wear  long  dresses  Myra  has  been  kinda 
selfish,  doing  only  what  she  made  up  her  mind  to  do  and 
looking  out  for  herself  first.  Now  Nick's  dif'rent.  He 
was  always  ready  to  help  me  and  was  good-natured 
about  it,  and  never  sit  by  letting  me  do  heavy  work 


ENMITY  217 

like  Myra  would,  and  gave  me  most  of  his  money,  and 
nursed  me  when  I  was  sick.  And  now  he  can't  come 
to  me,  my  own  boy,  my  own  son.  Oh,  I  lie  awake 
nights  praying  nothing  will  happen  to  him  wherever  he 
is,  with  men  hunting  him  through  the  mountains  for  his 
life!  I  can  just  see  him  dodging  from  one  hole  to 
another,  hungry  and  desperate,  and  my  heart  aches. 
It's  worrying  for  him  more'n  the  strain  in  my  side  that 
has  made  me  sick.  Ain't  there  nothing  that  can  be 
done  to  stop  this  bloodthirsty  hunting  of  him?  Ain't 
there  nothing,  Doctor,  that  you  can  do  to  get  Wagner 
to  call  his  men  off?" 

Cryder  approached  the  woman. 

" Drink  this,"  said  he.  "Then  undress  and  get  into 
bed,  where  you  must  remain.  You've  dragged  your- 
self about  at  work  too  long  as  it  is." 

"I've  got  to;  I'm  all  alone,"  she  said,  and  began  to 
whimper.  "Myra  won't  come." 

"I'll  send  Mrs.  Mercer  along  to  nurse  you." 

"But  can  you  spare  her?" 

"Yes.  I'm  going  East  for  a  short  trip  and  she  can 
come  as  well  as  not.  No  one  in  the  hospital  just  now. 
Here,  swallow  this." 

Mrs.  Nichols  laboriously  sat  up. 

"What  is  it?  Something  with  a  bad  taste?"  she 
asked.  , 

She  drank  what  was  in  the  glass  and  lay  back  on  the 
pillow.  Cryder  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  a 
thoughtful  expression  upon  his  face. 

"You  can't  help  thinking  of  Nick,  naturally,  but  I 
want  you  to  view  the  matter  more  hopefully,"  he 


218  CRYDER 

stated.  "He  may  have  slipped  over  the  mountains  and 
got  away." 

"He  hasn't,"  she  answered. 

Cryder  asked  no  questions.  He  suspected  that  Nick 
managed  to  communicate  with  trusted  friends  in  some 
manner  or  other. 

"The  wisest  course  he  could  follow  would  be  to  give 
himself  up  and  stand  trial,"  he  remarked.  "He  killed 
the  man  in  self-defense;  no  jury  would  convict  him  of 
murder.  If  you  have  the  chance,  pass  that  word  along 
to  him  as  my  advice.  However,  we  were  speaking  of 
yourself.  You  must  stop  worrying.  To  ease  your 
mind,  I'll  promise  to  see  Wagner  and  endeavour  to 
persuade  him  to  stop  the  hunt." 

"If  you  only  will!" 

"I  saw  him  once  about  the  matter  and  I'll  do  so 
again  at  the  first  opportunity.  Meanwhile,  you  must 
think  of  other  things  and  trust  that  everything  will 
come  out  right." 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  and  pressed  it,  smiled 
reassuringly  and  nodded.  Her  cheeks,  once  plump 
but  now  bagging  loosely,  quivered  at  his  kindly 
touch. 

"I  wish  Pinney  had  never  started  any  lumber  associ- 
ation among  us,"  she  exclaimed,  "and  then  nothing 
would  have  happened  to  Nick.  I  just  live  in  fear  now 
of  hearing  he's  been  killed — and  the  men  after  him  give 
me  no  peace;  they  keep  coming  here  and  troubling  me 
and  demanding  I  tell  where  he  is." 

"I  know,  I  know;  it's  bad,"  he  replied.  "They  have 
bothered  others  as  well.  They've  annoyed  me  too. 


ENMITY  219 

We  can  only  submit  when  it's  the  sheriff  or  his  depu- 
ties." 

"And  I'm  all  alone,"  she  went  on,  querulously.  "If 
Myra  was  a  good  daughter  she'd  come  to  stay  with  me 
while  I'm  sick.  She  claimed  she  had  to  be  with  Pinney 
now  because  of  you." 

"Because  of  me!" 

"Yes,  saying  you  were  fighting  Pinney.  You  aren't 
doing  what  she  says,  are  you,  Doctor?"  She  stared  at 
him  anxiously.  "She  wrote  a  dozen  pages  about 
it." 

"What,  according  to  Myra,  am  I  doing?" 

"  Keeping  the  company  from  going  ahead  as  it  should. 
She  declares  you  won't  let  the  bonds  be  sold,  and  won't 
let  Pinney  manage  the  business  right  and  start  a  big 
advertising  campaign  over  the  country  and  put  retail 
yards  in  the  farmer  towns  in  the  corn-belt  and  hire  a  lot 
of  salesmen  and  boom  the  business." 

In  this  recital  of  alleged  offences  Cryder  heard  noth- 
ing new.  He  had  been  charged  with  them  over  and 
over  again  by  Pinney  at  directorate  meetings  and  each 
time  more  bitterly.  But  he  had  been  unmoved  by 
the  flighty  manager's  incensed  accusations  in  his  re- 
solve to  keep  the  company  on  firm  ground  and  within 
practical  bounds  in  the  conduct  of  its  affairs.  So  far 
he  had  succeeded  in  directing  the  policy.  While 
Pinney  was  supported  by  Swanson  and  Finchette,  he 
himself  had  the  backing  of  Hollister,  Arnold  Meek,  and 
Edgecombe.  But  recently  the  last  had  been  wavering, 
showing  an  inclination  to  yield  to  Pinney's  demand  to 
handle  the  sale  of  bonds.  Only  by  constant  persuasions 


220  CRYDER 

and  increasing  pressure  of  will  had  Cryder  held  him  in 
line. 

"  Pinney  and  I  disagree  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the  plans 
he  wishes  to  carry  out,"  he  said.  "It's  nonsense  to  say 
that  I'm  fighting  him;  I  simply  refuse  to  accede  to  his 
requests." 

"What  about  his  selling  the  bonds?  Myra  was  all 
worked  up  in  her  letter  about  that." 

"I  presume  so." 

"And  people  here  are  worrying  about  them  not  being 
sold,  too.  There's  only  two  months  left." 

"That's  true." 

"Some  say  you'd  rather  have  your  own  way  and  lose 
than  to  give  in  and  win." 

"Who  says  that?"  he  demanded,  sharply. 

"Quite  a  number  have  said  it.  Of  course  it  isn't 
true,  Doctor.  People  are  just  worrying.  And,  be- 
sides, they  say  you  haven't  anything  at  stake." 

"Nothing  at  stake,  eh?" 

"You  don't  own  any  timber." 

"I've  a  pride  in  seeing  this  undertaking  made  a 
success,  however,  but  I  suppose  those  talking  about  me 
can't  grasp  that.  They'll  be  declaring  next  that  I'm 
trying  to  wreck  the  company/'  he  concluded. 

"Some  say  now  that  you  act  like  it.  I  heard  one  of 
the  Martins  telling  folks  you  couldn't  be  worse  if  you 
was  working  in  Wagner's  interest." 

Cryder  rose,  smiling  indulgently. 

"Pinney's  a  half-brother  of  Jack  Martin's  wife,  which 
explains  that,"  said  he.  "Well,  this  medicine  should 
help  you.  I'm  leaving  some  more  of  the  tablets  here  on 


ENMITY  221 

the  stand;  take  two,  morning  and  night,  in  water;  keep 
in  bed  a  few  days  and,  if  you  can,  don't  think  of  Nick. 
I'll  send  Mrs.  Mercer  down,  and  when  I  return  from 
Chicago  I'll  see  you  again." 

He  went  out  of  the  house.  Behind  the  cabins  across 
the  street  he  could  see  the  company  of  worshippers  in 
the  shade  near  the  creek  listening  to  Arnold  Meek,  who 
preached  with  a  Bible  open  in  his  hand.  The  old  man's 
voice  came  to  him  in  deliberate  and  devout  sentences. 
His  beard  gave  him  a  venerable  look  and  his  tones  had 
the  calm  confidence  of  one  possessing  an  unshakable 
faith. 

Presently  he  began  to  read  a  Scriptural  passage  to 
corroborate  an  utterance: 


"And  as  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  also  to  them 
likewise.  For  if  ye  love  them  which  love  you,  what  thank  have 
ye?  for  sinners  also  love  those  that  love  them.  And  if  ye  do  good 
to  them  which  do  good  to  "you,  what  thank  have  ye  ?  for  sinners  do 
even  the  same." 


II 

When  the  surgeon  reached  the  store  he  found  a  small 
crowd -of  men  loafing  in  its  shade,  most  of  them  settlers 
who  had  driven  their  wives  and  children  to  Kettle  for 
Arnold  Meek's  service  and  who  waited  here  for  its  end. 
Cryder  sat  down  cross-legged  among  them.  The  talk 
had  ceased  upon  his  arrival. 

"I  must  have  been  the  subject  of  conversation,  judg- 
ing by  the  way  you  fellows  shut  up,"  he  remarked. 

"You  was,"  said  Sam  McMurtrie,  who  lay  full  length 


222  CRYDER 

on  the  ground  with  his  head  propped  on  a  hand.  He 
regarded  Cryder  from  under  lazy  lids.  "We  was  dis- 
cussin'  you  and  Pinney,"  he  went  on,  "and  tellin'  Edge- 
combe  it's  time  the  bonds  was  sold  by  somebody." 

"And  somebody  means  Pinney  with  you,  Sam, 
doesn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so." 

Cryder  had  never  liked  this  McMurtrie,  in  whom  there 
was  a  surly,  vicious  streak. 

"There's  a  lot  of  'em  thinkin'  the  same  as  I  do,"  the 
man  proceeded.  "And  they're  askin'  questions." 

"Not  of  me." 

"Well,  they're  askin'  'em  just  the  same." 

Cryder  looked  about  at  the  others.  They  were 
seated  or  sprawled  in  various  attitudes  of  ease,  and 
though  nearly  all  had  an  air  of  unconcern,  their  silence 
revealed  that  they  were  alert  to  what  was  said.  He 
turned  his  attention  once  more  to  McMurtrie. 

"Maybe  you  don't  want  to  know  what  them  ques- 
tions are?"  McMurtrie  addressed  him. 

"Go  ahead,  ease  your  mind.  This  is  a  good  place  to 
discuss  whatever's  to  be  discussed.  You  men  are  all 
stockholders  and  have  a  right  to  know  reasons  why 
things  in  the  company  are  done  or  not  done.  Pinney 's 
evidently  been  pulling  the  wool  over  your  eyes  and  now 
is  a  good  time  for  me  to  lift  it.  Fire  away." 

"Well,  we  want  to  know  why  he  ain't  allowed  to  sell 
the  bonds  ? " 

"Because  Patterson  has  a  sale  nearly  effected." 

"How  do  you  know?" 


ENMITY  223 

"He  says  so.'* 

"Yes,  he  says  so,  but  has  he?" 

"How  do  you  know  Pinney  can  sell  them?"  Cryder 
countered. 

"Well,  he  says "  McMurtrie  checked  himself. 

"He  says  so.  Exactly.  But  can  he?  When  he 
shows  me  he  can  sell  lumber,  which  he  doesn't  appear  to 
be  able  to  do,  then  I'll  have  more  faith  in  his  ability  to 
sell  bonds." 

"  Pinney  says  Patterson  is  engaged  to  marry  the  sister 
of  that  Huff,  who's  working  for  Wagner." 

"What  of  it?" 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

"It  amounts  to  nothing,  that's  certain." 

"You  was  kinda  sweet  on  that  girl  yourself  last 
summer,  wasn't  you?"  McMurtrie  inquired,  indolently. 

Cryder  gave  the  speaker  a  steady  look. 

"That,"  said  he,  at  last,  "is  none  of  your  business." 

The  other  waited  for  a  time. 

"Maybe  not,"  said  he. 

From  a  distance  behind  the  store  travelled  Arnold 
Meek's  voice  raised  in  exhortation.  One  of  the  men 
on  the  ground  lifted  himself,  turned  his  face  toward 
the  sound  and  then  lowered  himself  into  a  new,  more 
comfortable  position. 

"Any  more  questions?"  Cryder  inquired. 

"When  do  you  think  Patterson  will  have  the  bonds 
sold?"  one  of  the  Cole  boys  asked. 

"I  can't  give  a  definite  date,  of  course,  but  shortly 
now." 

"He's  been  promising  that  right  along." 


224  CRYDER 

"Quite  true,"  said  Cryder.  "But  a  sale  isn't  as  easy 
to  make  as  it  would  have  been  a  year  or  two  ago. 
Money  is  tight.  The  bond  market  has  gone  to  smash." 

"Pinney  says  there's  plenty  of  money  in  the  country 
for  investments  like  ours." 

"Oh,  he's  always  up  in  the  clouds,"  Cryder  ex- 
claimed, contemptuously. 

"A  lot  of  us  wouldn't  lose  no  sleep  if  you  resigned," 
McMurtrie  drawled. 

At  that  Cryder  hoisted  himself  to  his  feet  and  dusted 
the  seat  of  his  trousers. 

"Let  me  tell  you  fellows  something,"  he  answered, 
with  an  edge  of  harshness.  "You  made  me  a  director 
last  summer  over  my  protest  and  when  I  didn't  want 
the  place.  Nothing  would  do  but  that  I  take  it.  After 
thinking  the  matter  over  all  winter  I  did  take  it  and  I've 
given  time  and  thought  to  the  business  of  the  company. 
Now  because  Pinney  can't  induce  me  to  fall  in  with  all 
his  crazy  schemes,  the  man,  and  not  only  the  man  but 
his  wife,  too,  are  doing  their  best  to  create  sentiment 
against  me.  It's  a  good  thing  I  am  on  the  board  to  hold 
him  down.  No,  I  won't  resign,  however  much  feeling 
he  works  up  against  me  by  his  talk,  for  that's  just  what 
he  would  like.  I  know  how  the  case  stands  and  I  know 
the  kind  of  man  he  is.  He  becomes  the  enemy  of  any 
man  who  holds  different  opinions  from  his.  He  makes 
of  it  a  personal  matter.  He  sees  in  it  nothing  but  spite 
work.  And  that's  why  he's  endeavouring  to  poison 
your  minds  against  me.  I  repeat,  I  shall  not  resign 
under  any  circumstances,  for  I  consider  it  my  duty  to 
keep  him  from  ruining  our  concern  by  his  crazy  proj- 


ENMITY  225 

ects.  There's  only  one  way  to  get  me  off  the  board  and 
that  is  for  the  stockholders  to  vote  me  off  in  a  legally 
called  meeting.  So  much  for  that." 

He  walked  away  from  the  spot,  but  a  few  paces  off 
halted  in  doubt.  A  desire  assailed  him  to  return  and 
argue  the  matter  at  length,  for  on  the  countenances 
of  the  greater  number  of  his  hearers  he  had  perceived  no 
change  of  expression.  Yet  after  a  moment  he  started 
on  afresh,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  such  a  course. 
Twenty  years  of  isolated  life  had  made  them  simple- 
minded  and  ignorant  of  financial  affairs  in  the  larger 
sense.  To  them  money  meant  something  they  could 
feel  and  put  in  their  pockets,  no  more.  Not  a  dozen 
men  in  the  valley  had  a  conception  of  what  managing 
a  lumber  business  actually  involved:  only  Hollister, 
Arnold  Meek,  Edgecombe,  and  a  few  others.  The  rest, 
having  no  understanding  of  it,  would  accept  Pinney's 
grandiose  schemes  as  entirely  practical  and  indeed,  as 
common  with  ignorant  minds,  be  convinced  by  their 
very  magnificence. 

It  disgusted  him  that  they  so  readily  accepted  the 
man's  ridiculous  assertions.  Ever  since  the  day  of 
the  celebration  Pinney  had  been  striving  with  his  pecu- 
liar persistence  to  undermine  Cryder's  influence,  in 
private  speech  and  in  letters,  at  the  mill  and  at  the 
log-drivers'  camp  and  at  Kettle  Creek  to  which  he 
made  flying  visits.  The  surgeon  knew  by  report  what 
was  his  talk.  Pinney  was  soliciting  the  aid  of  the 
settlers  in  forcing  the  directors  to  give  him  more  au- 
thority. He  declared  Cryder  was  only  a  doctor,  while 
he  himself  was  a  practical  lumberman  and  experienced 


226  CRYDER 

financier;  that  Cryder  had  nothing  to  lose  whether  the 
company  succeeded  or  failed;  that  his  whole  opposition 
was  a  result  of  malice;  that  he  was  under  the  thumb  of 
Patterson;  that  he  did  not  hate  Wagner  and  the  Hedley 
Lumber  Company,  but  was  neutral  toward  it,  even 
friendly;  that  he  had  been  on  good  terms  with  Huff — 
Wagner's  right-hand  man;  that  he  blocked  every  plan 
to  develop  business  and  to  sell  the  bonds;  that  he  ought 
not  to  be  on  the  board  of  directors  or  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  association;  that  he  was  a  danger  to  the 
company;  and  that  he  was  determined  to  have  his  own 
head  if  it  ruined  the  settlers,  as  ruin  them  he  would  in 
the  end. 

Edgecombe  overtook  him. 

"Doc,  I  don't  see  how  we  can  keep  voting  against 
Pinney's  selling  the  bonds,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?" 

"The  people  are  wanting  him  to  have  the  chance, 
anyway." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  Cryder  asked. 
"We  know  we're  right.  I  tell  you  what:  Let  him  go 
find  a  buyer  and  then  communicate  with  Patterson.  I 
don't  know  who  would  look  after  the  sawmill  while  he's 
away,  but  never  mind  that.  We'll  shut  it  up  for  the 
time  being." 

"He  says  Myra  would  look  after  the  business." 

"Myra!  My-ra  !  Now  I  know  the  man's  incurably 
insane." 

"  Pinney  says  he  won't  touch  the  bond  sale  unless  he 
has  complete  charge,  with  Patterson  entirely  out  of  it, 
so  that  he  can  use  his  own  discretion  and  methods." 


ENMITY  227 

"That's  quite  in  the  Pinney  manner." 

"Folks  are  demanding  that  something  be  done  about 
disposing  of  them,"  Edgecombe  continued.  "Nobody 
wants  the  notes  to  fall  due  and  be  unpaid  and  our  deeds 
forfeited." 

"Of  course  not,  nor  shall  they  be,"  Cryder  declared, 
earnestly.  "I'm  going  to  town  in  the  morning  and  I'll 
see  Patterson  again.  It's  time  for  him  to  show  results. 
From  Maronville  I'm  going  on  to  Chicago,  but  I'll  be 
back  shortly.  Don't  change,  Edgecombe;  stand  firm 
no  matter  what  pressure  they  put  on  you.  Hollister 
and  Arnold  Meek  will  be  standing  with  you.  I  tell  you 
if  Pinney  once  has  things  his  own  way,  we  might 
as  well  scratch  our  names  off  the  book  and  shut  up 
shop." 

Edgecombe  went  slowly  back  to  the  store,  while  the 
surgeon  proceeded  across  the  clearing  to  the  path  lead- 
ing to  the  hospital. 

This  tribe  of  Kettle  Creekers!  To  lead  them  some- 
times seemed  beyond  his  strength,  or  that  of  any  man. 

By  the  creek  Arnold  Meek  had  ceased  to  preach  and 
the  worshippers  once  again  were  singing. 

"I've  reached  the  land  of  corn  and  wine, 
And  all  its  riches  freely  mine; 
Here  shines  undimmed  one  blissful  day, 
For  all  my  night  has  passed  away. 

0  Beulah  Land,  Sweet  Beulah  Land, 
As  on  thy  highest  mount  I  stand, 

1  look  away  across  the  sea 

Where  mansions  are  prepared  for  me, 

And  view  the  shining  glory-shore 

My  Heav'n,  my  home  for  ever  more!" 


CHAPTER  III 
BROUGHT  Low 


ABOUT  ten  o'clock  on  a  July  morning  a  single  cus- 
tomer was  in  Sherill's  Drug  Store,  Myra  Pinney,  who 
stood  before  a  glass  case  containing  toilet  articles, 
attended  by  Archie  Hay,  dapper  in  a  fresh  duck  jacket 
and  with  his  marcelled  blond  hair  glistening  with 
shimmers  of  oily  light.  Archie  was  nothing  if  not 
alert,  breezy,  full  of  "pep."  His  chief  occupation  was 
dispensing  soda  water,  but  he  rilled  in  slack  periods  by 
clerking. 

Myra  thought  him  very  efficient,  very  agreeable,  as 
he  handed  forth  for  her  inspection  one  article  after 
another — a  bottle  of  toilet  water,  a  red  box  of  face 
powder,  a  jar  of  cold  cream,  a  lip-stick,  a  vial  of  per- 
fume, the  while  glibly  expatiating  upon  the  merits  of 
each.  Her  cheek-bones  already  were  heavily  rouged  in 
two  round  carmine  spots.  In  her  social  climb  in 
Maronville  she  was  determined  to  utilize  all  the  pur- 
chasable accessories  that  would  facilitate  her  progress 
and  fit  her  for  the  station  she  impatiently  sought. 

"This  toilet  water  is  used  by  our  best  customers  and 
you  will  find  it  satisfactory  in  every  respect,"  Archie 
was  saying.  "  It  has  a  very  delicate  yet  lasting  odour. 

228 


BROUGHT  LOW  229 

Imported,  Mrs.  Pinney.  We  have  it  in  two  scents, 
rose  and  violet.  Only  yesterday  I  sold  two  bottles  to 
Mrs.  Jackson,  the  mayor's  wife.  The  price  is  one 
dollar  a  bottle.  You'll  find  it  extremely  fine."  On 
a  second  assurance  that  it  was  the  same  toilet  water 
bought  by  Mrs.  Jackson  Myra  selected  a  bottle.  "And 
this  'Versailles  Rice  Powder'  for  the  complexion  is  our 
best,"  he  continued.  "It's  just  suited  to  your  style 
of  beauty,  too,  Mrs.  Pinney.  Imported.  Our  most 
fastidious  customers  employ  it.  One  box?"  He 
placed  the  face  powder  beside  the  toilet  water.  "Now 
this  cold  cream  is  a  new  shipment  we've  just  secured. 
Softens  and  whitens  the  skin.  I'm  sure  nothing  less 
than  the  best  will  satisfy  you.  Seventy-five  cents  a 
jar.  Removes  wrinkles.  But  you've  no  wrinkles,  Mrs. 
Pinney,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  "One  jar?  Let  me 
put  one  of  these  lip-sticks  with  the  rest.  Imported. 
When  you've  tried  it,  you'll  use  no  other  kind.  All  the 
prominent  society  women  of  New  York  employ  it,  I 
understand.  Is  there  anything  else?  Nail  polish? 
Fine  soap?  We  have  some  very  choice  scented  soap. 
Imported,  Mrs.  Pinney.  Hair  nets?  Chamois  skins? 
Henna  ?  A  touch  of  henna  on  the  hair,  or  indeed  all  the 
hair  hennaed,  is  very  fashionable  nowadays.  Nothing 
more?" 

"I  think  that's  all  this  mornin',"  said  Myra,  after  a 
thoughtful  consideration  of  the  glass  case.  "I'll  see 
about  the  henna  later.  Possibly  I  shall  want  my  hair 
fixed  if  it's  the  right  thing  to  do." 

"Anything  in  fine  stationery?  In  combs  or  brushes? 
In  candies?"  Myra's  eyes  wandered  irresolutely  to 


230  CRYDER 

the  candy  boxes  piled  in  pyramids  on  top  of  the  case 
—boxes  of  chocolates  and  bonbons,  and  the  alert  Archie 
lifted  from  a  pile  a  beribboned  box  and  presented  it  to 
his  customer.  "These  have  fruit  and  nut  centres.  A 
fresh  shipment,  too.  I  wish  you  would  try  them. 
One-fifty  a  box.  They  will  simply  melt  in  your  mouth. 
Mrs.  Petherbridge  eats  nothing  else  in  the  chocolate 
line." 

Myra  succumbed,  nodded.  For  candy  she  had  a 
weakness,  and  since  coming  to  Maronville  to  live  had 
been  unable  to  deny  herself  the  luxury  hitherto  seldom 
gratified.  But  with  its  enjoyment  came  forebodings: 
she  was  growing  heavier,  with  soft  rolls  of  fat  accumu- 
lating on  her  waist  and  about  her  neck,  bust,  and  hips. 

As  Archie  wrapped  and  tied  her  purchased  articles 
Mrs.  Forsythe  entered  the  store. 

"Why,  how  are  you?  Are  you  out  shoppin'  too, 
Mrs.  Forsythe?"  Myra  effusively  greeted  her.  "Ain't 
it  warm  this  mornin'?"  Then  as  the  other  stared  at 
her  in  surprise  and  with  a  pronounced  coldness  of 
manner,  she  hastened  to  say,  "I  guess  you  don't  re- 
member me.  I'm  Mrs.  Pinney.  We  met  last  week  at 
the  reception." 

"Reception?" 

"Yes,  at  the  reception  in  the  court  house  given  for 
the  visitin'  congressman  when  he  was  here.  I  was 
introduced  to  you  there  that  eveninV 

"Ah,  I  think  I  recall  you  now,  Mrs.  Pinney." 

"Surely  you  must.     A  very  swell  affair,  wasn't  it?" 

"Very." 

"You  must  come  and  call  on  me  some  afternoon." 


BROUGHT  LOW  231 

"It's  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  ask  me,  I'm  sure," 
Mrs.  Forsythe  returned,  smiling. 

"Well,  I  want  all  the  best  people  to  call  on  me  and 
Pinney,  as  we  expect  to  be  in  society.  My,  isn't  it 
hot  for  so  early  in  the  mornin'!  Terrible!  I  was  just 
goin'  to  have  an  ice-cream  soda.  Won't  you  eat  one 
with  me?  And  we  can  have  a  nice  little  talk  together." 

For  the  smallest  fraction  of  a  minute  Mrs.  Forsythe 
hesitated,  then  accepted  the  invitation  and  followed 
Mrs.  Pinney  to  one  of  the  small  round-topped  tables 
arranged  in  a  row  the  length  of  the  room  between  the 
glass  cases.  Archie  Hay  appeared  beside  them,  spread- 
ing paper  napkins  on  the  table  and  setting  glasses  of 
water  on  these.  When  he  had  received  their  respective 
orders  he  smartly  vanished  behind  the  soda  fountain. 

Myra  was  furtively  studying  Mrs.  Forsythe's  clothes 
— a  white  sport  hat,  a  pongee  dress,  and  low-heeled 
shoes,  which  surprised  her  by  their  plainness.  She 
wondered  that  one  of  Mrs.  Forsythe's  social  position 
should  come  downtown  in  a  costume  as  simple  as  a 
school-girl's  and  without  a  bit  of  stylishness.  A  sense 
of  satisfaction  at  the  fact  that  she  herself  was  suitably 
attired  gave  Myra  a  glow  and  indeed  a  slight  feeling 
of  superiority.  She  readjusted  her  wide-brimmed  ma- 
line  hat  with  a  border  of  ostrich  feathers  of  a  lavender 
colour.  She  settled  her  white  leather  belt,  at  the  same 
time  letting  her  look  wander  over  her  pale  green 
georgette  dress  that  had  imitation  Duchess  lace  on 
sleeves,  on  bosom,  and  on  ruffles  about  the  skirt.  She 
glanced  down  at  her  feet  outstretched  before  her  and 
one  crossed  over  the  other,  which  were  encased  in  gray 


232  CRYDER 

suede  slippers  with  pink  patent  leather  bindings  and 
extreme  French  heels.  One  thing,  thought  she,  Mrs. 
Forsythe  could  not  say  she  wasn't  dressed  right. 

When  she  lifted  her  gaze  she  perceived  her  com- 
panion's eyes  dwelling  on  her  intently. 

"I  heard  somewhere  that  you  weren't  goin'  to  remain 
in  Maronville,"  Myra  remarked,  fingering  negligently 
her  long  necklace  of  red  beads  as  she  had  seen  done  by 
society  ladies  in  moving  pictures. 

"Oh,  my  plans  are  still  indefinite,"  was  the 
answer.  "I'm  waiting  to  sell  my  house,  and  other 
business  matters  engage  me.  I  can't  say  certainly.  I 
may  stay  on  here,  or  I  may  go  pretty  soon;  it  all  de- 
pends. How  do  you  like  Maronville?  And  society?" 

"Very,  very  much." 

"I  suspect  you're  going  to  be  exceedingly  popular 
here,  Mrs.  Pinney.  You're  engaging,  you  know." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

At  that  instant  Archie  Hay  pattered  to  the  table 
with  a  tray  bearing  their  drinks.  Deftly  he  deposited 
the  glasses  upon  the  table,  presented  to  each  woman  in 
turn  the  canister  holding  straws,  dropped  the  check  at 
Myra's  elbow  and  withdrew. 

"Isn't  he  a  handsome  boy?" 

"Who?"  Mrs.  Forsythe  inquired. 

"Mr.  Hay." 

"Too  pretty.  By  the  way,  they  haven't  caught 
your  brother  yet,  have  they?" 

"No."  A  crimson  blush  suffused  Myra's  face.  "I 
wish  he  hadn't  done  it.  Mr.  Pinney  says  it's  makin' 
us  too  famous." 


BROUGHT  LOW  233 

"They're  still  hunting  him,  I  suppose." 

Myra  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,  but  they  won't  catch  him,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  sudden  flame  of  anger.  "And  it  ain't  right  for 
'em  to  keep  tryin'  to  run  him  down.  He  ain't  a  crimi- 
nal. The  other  feller  tried  to  kill  him  first.  That 
devil,  Wagner,  is  makin'  all  the  trouble!"  She  halted 
abruptly,  confused,  dismayed.  "I  forgot,  Mrs.  For- 
sythe,  your  husband  used  to  be  manager  of  the  other 
company;  I  guess  I  oughtn't  to  be  speakin'  this  way." 

"Why  not?"  was  the  answer.  "The  Hedley  Lumber 
Company's  nothing  to  me.  No  more  than  these 
straws."  She  sipped  her  lemonade,  gazing  at  Myra. 

"It's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  my  mouth  shut  when  I 
think  of  that  Wagner."  Myra  compressed  her  lips  and 
then  proceeded.  "All  this  trouble  of  Nick's  and  the 
fights  about  the  logs  and  everything  is  worryin'  Pinney 
to  a  ghost.  He's  kinda  nervous  anyway,  and  this  makes 
it  worse.  Then  Doc  Cryder  aggravates  him  so  terrible, 
too." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  Doc  wants  to  run  our  company  and  the  mill 
like  everything  else  he  does.  Pinney — Mr.  Pinney,  I 
mean — has  such  wonderful  plans  for  the  business!  But 
Cryder  talks  the  other  directors  into  preventin'  him 
from  executin'  'em.  And  then  there's  the  bonds  which 
haven't  been  sold.  Mr.  Patterson  was  to  have  sold 
'em,  but  he  hasn't,  sayin'  money  is  tight  but  that  he 
will  yet.  There  ain't  so  much  time  left  before  the  notes 
are  due.  If  the  board  would  just  let  Pinney  go  to  New 
York,  he  could  sell  the  bonds  in  no  time.  It's  all 


234  CRYDER 

worryin'  him  something  fierce;  he  can't  sleep  nights  for 
tossin'.  He  has  two  of  the  directors  on  his  side,  but 
Doc  has  three,  and  so  Pinney  can't  go.  As  for  that 
Patterson,  I  don't  take  any  stock  in  him;  he's  too  slick 
and  smooth  and  besides  he's  engaged  to  that  Huff  girl, 
who's  a  sister  of  Jack  Huff,  who's  workin'  for  Wagner. 
I  tell  Pinney  I  wouldn't  have  no  lawyer  for  our  company 
that's  sweet  on  the  sister  of  the  other  company's 
superintendent;  and  Pinney's  been  wantin'  to  get  rid  of 
him  this  long  time,  but  Doc  won't  let  him,  sayin'  Patter- 
son's fair  and  square  and  doin'  all  possible  to  sell  the 
bonds,  and  will  sell  'em,  and — well,  it  worries  Pinney  to 
just  skin  and  bones  and  makes  him  so  fidgety  he  can't 
sit  still  two  minutes.  I  wish  Doc  had  never  been  in- 
vited to  go  on  the  board." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  sucked  at  her  pair  of  straws. 

"But  I  thought  Doctor  Cryder  was  absent  in  Chi- 
cago," she  remarked,  fixing  her  look  on  Myra's  face. 

"  He  was.  For  two  weeks.  Some  operation  or  some- 
thing. But  he's  back  again.  Got  home  yesterday." 

"Then  he's  up  at  Kettle  Creek?'* 

"Yes.  And  I  wish  he'd  stay  there.  Pinney's  gettin' 
so  he  can't  bide  him  about." 

"What's  this  I  heard  about  Wagner  holding  some  of 
your  company's  logs?" 

"A  whole  lot  of  'em.  He  run  them  into  his  boom 
and  got  out  a  'junction  to  keep  us  from  takin'  'em  out. 
Just  another  thing  to  pile  worry  on  my  poor  dear 
husband.  Patterson  says  all  we  can  do  is  to  sue,  but  a 
lot  of  our  men  want  to  go  and  show  Wagner  whether  or 
not  they  can  take  'em.  But  we  got  enough  to  keep 


BROUGHT  LOW  235 

the  mill  goin'  till  January.  After  the  row  that  my 
brother  was  in  Cryder  sent  men  to  brand  the  logs,  which 
they  did — and  that  was  some  more  of  Doc's  meddlin', 
Pinney  says,  for  he  had  the  men  do  it  without  consultin* 
anybody.  And  Wagner  says  they  branded  a  lot  of 
Hedley  logs.  If  Doc  had  kept  his  finger  out,  Wagner 
wouldn't  have  dared  touch  any  of  our  drive." 

"I  imagine  Mr.  Wagner  would  have  found  it  just  as 
easy  to  run  logs  that  he  claimed  for  his  own  into  his 
boom  if  they  weren't  branded,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  com- 
mented. 

"Pinney  says  not." 

"Well,  you're  living  in  a  whirl  of  excitement,  aren't 
you?  Now  I  must  be  going." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't;  I'm  enjoyin'  our  talk  so 
much." 

"Sorry  I  can't  stay  longer,"  Mrs.  Forsythe  replied, 
sweetly,  at  the  same  time  rising.  "Is  Doctor  Cryder 
busy  these  days?" 

"Not  much  that  I  know  of.  Ain't  heard  of  anybody 
special  bein'  sick.  And  he  seems  to  have  plenty  of 
time  to  interfere  with  Pinney,  more'n  a  doctor  who 
attends  to  his  business  ought  to  have." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  turned  toward  Archie  Hay.  "Give 
me  two  packs  of  Morris  cigarettes,  please." 

When  she  had  gone  out  and  stepped  into  her  sedan 
and  driven  away,  Myra,  who  meanwhile  had  sat  trans- 
fixed, managed  to  gasp: 

"Does  she  smoke  ?" 

"Oh,  quite  a  number  of  ladies  do,"  Archie  responded, 
nonchalantly. 


236  CRYDER 

"But— oh,  my " 

"It's  the  swell  thing  among  the  sporty  set  every- 
where, Mrs.  Pinney,"  the  youth  imparted  with  an  air  of 
worldly  wisdom,  as  he  came  forward  to  remove  the 
glasses  and  soiled  paper  napkins.  "All  the  actresses 
and  millionaires'  wives  do  it.  In  the  East  and  at  Los 
Angeles,  anyway.  I'm  thinking  of  going  to  Los 
Angeles  soon." 

"Why,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I'm  getting  tired  of  Maronville.  And  I 
may  go  into  movies."  He  skillfully  wiped  the  table. 

"How  grand!" 

"Oh,  yes.     I've  written  to  a  number  of  producers." 

"Then  it's  as  good  as  settled." 

"Well,  nearly."  Archie  complacently  stroked  his 
marcelle. 

"How  lovely!"  said  Myra. 

As  he  moved  away  with  the  glasses  in  which  he  had 
stuffed  the  napkins,  Archie  did  not  dissent. 

II 

Toward  two  o'clock  Mrs.  Forsythe  passed  through 
the  clearing  at  Kettle,  and  following  the  road  that  led 
through  the  forest  to  the  ridge,  presently  was  ascending 
the  hillside  behind  the  hospital.  Her  car  made  the 
climb  with  difficulty  and  she  suspected  its  supply  of 
gasoline  was  running  low.  Gaining  the  top  of  the 
ridge,  she  stopped  the  automobile  and  measured  the 
contents  of  the  tank.  The  latter  was  nearly  drained. 

As  she  was  on  the  point  of  starting  the  machine 
again,  she  perceived  a  man  among  the  trees  of  the  hill- 


BROUGHT  LOW  237 

side  a  little  way  below  her  mounting  the  slope  at  a 
laboured  run.  His  desperate  exertion,  his  continual 
looks  backward,  his  torn  clothes  and  furtive  wildness 
of  manner,  manifested  a  savage  haste  and  purpose  that 
sent  a  cold  ripple  over  Mrs.  Forsythe's  flesh.  He  was 
hatless,  his  black  hair  ragged  and  matted  in  a  filthy 
tangle;  his  face  bore  a  dark  bristly  beard,  which  empha- 
sized the  gauntness  of  his  cheeks  and  the  deep  pits  of 
his  eyes;  his  blue-checked  shirt  was  a  grimy  cover  of 
rents  and  tatters,  his  overalls,  held  by  a  piece  of  rope 
knotted  about  his  waist,  were  ripped  and  flapping  about 
his  calves,  and  his  shoes  were  mere  shapeless  lumps  of 
leather.  In  his  right  hand  he  clutched  a  revolver. 

Something  in  the  man's  stocky  figure  struck  Mrs. 
Forsythe  as  familiar.  Then  she  recognized  him  as  the 
youth  who  a  year  previous  had  driven  her  from  the 
log-drivers'  camp  to  Cryder's  on  her  visit,  Myra  Pin- 
ney's  brother,  young  Nichols. 

He  slipped  along  the  crest  of  the  ridge  from  tree  to  tree, 
his  eyes  ever  on  the  slope  below  him,  until  he  vanished 
behind  a  cabin  of  the  surgeon's  group  of  buildings 
partly  visible  through  the  pines. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  now  drove  forward.  When  she 
reached  the  hospital  she  saw  no  sign  of  the  fugitive, 
and  indeed  observed  no  one,  as  if  the  place  were  aban- 
doned. A  thrill  of  excitement  had  set  her  pulses  beat- 
ing, in  the  expectation  of  she  knew  not  what  dramatic 
event.  Somewhere  below  in  the  forest  were  the  man- 
hunters  beating  about  or  following  on  the  trail.  At  this 
moment  she  felt  no  fear,  only  an  avid  curiosity  to 
witness  more  of  this  chase  which  had  continued  so  long 


238  CRYDER 

and  which  inevitably  must  end  in  the  fugitive's  capture 
or  death. 

But  as  no  one  else  appeared  and  nothing  happened 
she  descended  from  the  car  and  went  into  the  hospital. 
She  looked  into  the  ward,  which  she  found  to  be  un- 
occupied; the  beds  with  their  white-painted  iron  frames 
all  in  order,  each  with  clean  linen  smoothly  drawn  and 
tightly  tucked  under  at  the  sides,  a  prim  pillow  at  the 
head  and  a  folded  gray  blanket  at  the  foot.  With  his 
passion  for  accuracy  in  hospital  routine  Cryder  would 
have  them  that  way,  she  thought,  or  make  a  row. 

A  sound  of  someone  moving  in  a  room  farther  along 
the  hallway  drew  her  thither.  It  was  the  operating 
room  and  the  door  stood  open.  Into  the  chamber 
through  an  immense  window  set  in  the  north  wall  fell  a 
flood  of  clear  light,  where  she  beheld  an  operating  table 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  a  big  shiny  metal  sterilizer 
against  one  wall,  an  X-ray  apparatus  against  another, 
several  glass-topped  carts,  a  tall  cupboard  and  two 
instrument  cabinets,  from  one  of  which  the  surgeon  was 
selecting  nickelled  tools,  wrapping  them  in  canton  flan- 
nel strips,  and  placing  them  in  a  leather  case. 

"All  alone,  Bob?"  she  asked,  sauntering  into  the 
room. 

Cryder  faced  about. 

"You,  Peg?"  he  exclaimed.  "Of  all  people!  What 
bough  did  you  flutter  down  from?" 

"Just  skipped  up  from  town,"  said  she,  with  an  airy 
wave  of  her  fingers.  "Thought  I'd  have  a  last  look 
at  Arcadia  before  leaving  Maronville." 

"Going?" 


BROUGHT  LOW  239 

"Before  long." 

"For  good?" 

"For  ever  and  ever,  amen."  She  placed  a  hand  on 
the  operating  table  and  sprang  lightly  to  a  seat  upon 
it,  where  she  sat  swinging  her  feet.  "Don't  you  want 
to  come  along,  too,  Bob?" 

Cryder  put  down  the  forceps  he  held  and  gazed  at  her 
smiling  face.  Then  he  bestowed  himself  against  the 
sterilizer  and  with  folded  arms  returned  her  smile  with 
a  transient  one  of  his  own. 

"You're  not  in  earnest  about  it  any  more,  thank 
heavens,"  he  said.  "Last  summer — well,  you  appeared 
quite  resolved  on  it  then." 

"I  did  want  you." 

"But  you  see  now  that  it  didn't  last." 

She  considered  him  with  a  speculative  air.  He  was 
right,  as  he  generally  was  right;  her  strange  renewal  of 
affection  for  him — of  infatuation,  indeed,  had  after 
a  time  subsided.  It  had  been  a  curious  resurgence  of 
feeling,  which  she  now  could  explain  in  no  other  way 
than  as  an  emotional  reaction  from  the  shock  of  Jim 
Forsythe's  tragic  death. 

"My  love  might  have  lasted,  perhaps,  if  it  had  been 
reciprocated,"  she  remarked. 

"Not  at  all,  Peg.  For  you're  a  true  daughter  of 
that  feminine  deity  who  was  born  of  love  amid  foam  and 
came  up  out  of  the  sea,  Aphrodite,  and  quite  as  change- 
ful as  she." 

Again  she  meditated.  It  was  true  that  she  never 
long  felt  passion  for  any  man. 

"Possibly,"  she  answered. 


24o  CRYDER 

"And  you  don't  care  the  least  particle  about  me  at 
this  moment,"  he  concluded. 

His  satisfied  tone  stirred  her  resentment.  The 
recollection  of  her  rejection  at  his  hands  a  year  previous 
caused  her  to  feel  again  the  sharp  edge  of  that  ignominy. 
If  he  could  not  inspire  a  continuous  affection,  neverthe- 
less, he  could  always  rouse  in  her  vindictive  desires — 
she  was  unable  to  tell  why,  unless  it  was  that  deadly 
assurance  of  his.  He  both  irked  and  angered  her, 
somehow.  Then,  too,  a  consciousness  of  his  rigid  prin- 
ciples was  always  jarring  upon  her;  she  detested  the 
lack  of  pliancy  in  him  and  absence  of  subtlety.  Even 
the  fact  that  as  a  rule  he  was  right  made  her  antipa- 
thy the  stronger. 

For  a  little  her  eyes  dwelled  on  him  lounging  there 
against  the  sterilizer,  a  big  ungraceful  figure.  He  was 
wearing  a  gray,  well-tailored  suit,  she  observed,  which 
probably  had  been  made  in  Chicago;  low  shoes  of  a 
dark-brown  colour;  a  soft-collared  oxford  shirt  with 
a  narrow  olive  scarf;  and  a  cap  and  dust  coat  lay  on 
a  chair  near  by. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  live,  may  I  ask?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Los  Angeles.     For  a  time,  at  least." 

"Departing  soon?" 

"When  I've  disposed  of  my  house.  Mr.  Patterson 
has  made  me  an  offer  for  it — a  very  low  one.  If  I 
hadn't  grown  tired  of  waiting  for  a  buyer,  I  should  not 
consider  it  at  all.  He  knows  I  want  to  get  rid  of  the 
place  and  is  taking  advantage  of  that  fact.  Cold- 
blooded about  it.  He  expects  to  live  there  when  he 
marries  Frances  HuflF."  She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her 


BROUGHT  LOW  241 

listener.  "You  were  quite  deeply  in  love  with  Frances 
yourself  when  she  was  here  last  year,  weren't  you?" 

"That's  a  matter  not  to  be  discussed." 

"Well,  if  you  had  won  her  I  fancy  you  would  have 
wearied  of  your  bargain  in  time.  She  isn't  your  kind. 
But  she'll  suit  Patterson,  who'll  keep  her  innocent  and 
proper  and  whom  she'll  adore,  never  knowing  what  a 
slippery  gentleman  she  has  for  a  husband." 

"I  don't  care  to  hear  of  that." 

"You'll  think  of  it  later,  though,  when  you're  driven 
out  of  here." 

The  surgeon's  attention  was  caught  by  this  singular 
statement. 

"Driven  out.     What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded. 

"By  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company." 

"What  has  it  to  do  with  my  going  or  staying?" 

"This,  that  it  has  bought  the  notes  of 

Cryder  cut  in  with,  "Our  company's  notes?" 

"Yes.  I  understand  the  Citizens'  National,  like 
most  other  banks  at  this  time,  was  pressed  for  cash 
and  had  to  sell  a  lot  of  its  paper.  It  disposed  of  the 
Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Company's  notes  and  collateral 
to  the  Heidenstreit  people  in  Spokane." 

"Where  did  you  hear  this?" 

"Never  mind.  I  have  it  on  the  best  of  authority. 
And  one  can  see  the  finish  of  the  Kettle  Creek  concern 
when  the  notes  fall  due,  are  unpaid,  and  the  deeds  to 
this  timber  are  appropriated  for  payment.  You  un- 
derstand now  what  I  mean  by  being  driven  out.  All 
of  you  will  go." 

"Not  if  our  bonds  are  sold  first." 


242  CRYDER 

"They'll  not  be  sold,  not  with  Mr.  Patterson  in 
charge  of  their  sale.  You  trust  him,  I  suppose." 

From  a  pocket  Cryder  had  drawn  a  handkerchief 
and  was  wiping  a  fine  sweat  from  his  forehead.  His 
face  at  this  news  of  hers  had  grown  heavy  with  con- 
cern. 

"Yes,  I  naturally  trust  him,"  he  answered.  "Yes, 
of  course.  There  can  be  no  question  of  his  integrity." 

"I  can't  agree  with  you." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  don't.  The  man's  a  hypocrite,  I  tell 
you.  I  saw  through  him  the  very  first  time." 

"You  see  bad  in  people  where  it  doesn't  exist,  Peg; 
that  was  always  one  of  your  failings." 

"And  yours  was  to  see  good  in  everybody,"  she  re- 
torted. "Let  me  tell  you  something  more.  Patterson 
isn't  attorney  only  for  your  Kettle  Creek  Lumber 
Association,  but  for  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company." 

"Bosh!" 

"He  gets  an  annual  retainer  from  it,  though  he 
keeps  the  fact  secret,"  said  she,  calmly. 

"I  can't  believe  that." 

"Still  it's  the  truth." 

"Where  did  you  obtain  all  this  information?"  he 
inquired,  curiously. 

"From  Jack  Huff.  He  likes  to  come  to  my  house 
and  drink  highballs  and  relax,  as  he  calls  it.  When  he 
has  had  two  or  three  drinks,  his  tongue  gets  to  wagging. 
He  let  me  into  the  secret  about  Patterson,  though  I  had 
inferred  as  much  from  something  Jim  once  said  before 
he  drowned.  Jack  let  me  into  the  secret  of  your  want- 


BROUGHT  LOW  243 

ing  to  marry  Frances,  also.  And  he  told  me  of  the 
notes." 

Cryder  was  thoughtful. 

"All  that  you  say  may  be  true  and  Patterson  yet 
be  honest, "said  he,  at  last.  "Lawyers  are  frequently 
retained  thus  without  prejudicing  their  position  with 
respect  to  other  clients.  On  consideration  I  feel  no 
reason  to  distrust  him." 

A  contemptuous  expression  rested  on  her  face. 

"You're  the  blindest  fool  at  times,  Robert!"  she 
scoffed.  "Can't  you  see  through  the  fellow?" 

"I  don't  want  to  see  through  him  as  you  do." 

"Probably  not."  She  jumped  off  her  seat  and  began 
to  walk  about.  "I  wonder  from  whom  you  inherited 
that  silly  faith  in  people.  Pity  you  never  knew  who 
your  parents  were  so  that  you  could  look  them  up  and 
learn  something  of  them."  Cryder  said  nothing. 
"You're  a  queer  mixture.  It  would  be  interesting  for 
you  if  by  accident  you  ever  came  across  your  father 
or  your  mother."  Still  the  man  was  silent,  his  lips  com- 
pressed and  his  brow  dark.  "Perhaps  you've  even  met 
and  talked  with  one  or  the  other  and  never  knew  it." 

"Let  that  subject  alone  if  you  please,"  said  he, 
sharply. 

"We're  by  ourselves,  aren't  we?     Who's  to  hear?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  think  of  it." 

"Well,  it's  nothing  to  boast  of,  certainly." 

"I  am  what  I  am,"  he  brooded. 

"It  must  seem  strange  to  come  out  of  the  dark  with 
nothing  to  look  back  at  and  take  hold  of  in  your  mind, 
no  home,  no  mother  or  father,  no  family  line." 


244  CRYDER 

''You  uttered  these  taunts  when  you  left  me  before," 
he  exclaimed,  wrathfully,  "and  to  repeat  them  now,  I 
see,  is  the  real  reason  of  your  visit  to-day.  You 
couldn't  leave  Maronville  without  flinging  at  my  head 
once  more  the  unhappy  circumstance  of  my  birth." 

She  took  a  step  nearer. 

"How  much  consideration  did  you  show  me  last 
summer?"  she  demanded. 

"All  that  you  were  entitled  to." 

"And  that's  what  I'm  showing  you  now,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "It's  well  to  recall  to  your  mind  on  occasion 
that  you're  a  man  without  a  real  name  of  your  own  and 
with  a  cloud  on  your  birth  in  order  to  explode  some  of 
your  pretensions." 

All  the  bitterness,  long  dripping  in  her  heart,  flowed 
forth  on  her  lips. 

"You  wouldn't  have  me  when  I  offered  myself,  over- 
looking all  this,"  she  continued.  "You  believed  your- 
self superior.  You  trampled  me  underfoot.  Yes,  it's 
well  you  should  be  reminded  of  your  shameful  origin." 

"Do  you  know  that  it's  shameful?"  he  asked.  "No. 
For  I  don 't  know  that  myself,  and  you  know  only  what 
I  know  and  told  you." 

"Neither  do  you  know  that  it  isn't.  But  you  are 
perfectly  informed  as  to  the  character  of  the  majority 
of  those  births  which  happen  under  circumstances  like 
yours.  I  think,  yes,  I  think  we  can  guess  the  facts." 

Cryder  gazed  at  her  steadily. 

"Even  so  I  should  choose  to  be  what  I  am  than  what 
you  are,"  he  stated. 

"Meaning?" 


BROUGHT  LOW  245 

"Meaning  that  a  worm  is  in  your  soul,  Peg.  You 
might  have  been  a  beautiful  woman  with  a  fine  char- 
acter, but  you're  only  a  person  with  a  petty,  malicious 
nature,  full  of  discontent  and  spite,  finding  your  chief 
satisfaction  in  making  others  suffer  when  you're  crossed 
or  thwarted."  He  turned  for  his  cap  and  coat  and 
leather  case.  "I  think  that  now  we've  both  said  all 
that  we  need  say." 

"You  surely  have  said  enough,"  she  answered,  pale 
with  rage.  All  she  could  add  was,  "I'm  going,  but  I 
must  have  some  gasoline.  If  I  could  get  home  without 
it,  I'd  not  be  asking  you  for  any,  Robert  Cryder,  be 
certain  of  that." 

"Drive  your  car  to  the  pump,"  said  he.  "I'll  fill 
it."  And  they  went  out  of  the  building  in  silence. 

As  he  finished  replenishing  her  automobile  tank  and 
stood  hanging  the  rubber  tube  about  the  pump,  a  figure 
slipped  round  the  rear  of  the  car  and  clutched  his  arm. 
Cryder  gazed  at  the  human  scarecrow  in  surprise.  It 
was  Nichols. 

"You!  What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  cried. 
"Have  you  lost  your  senses?" 

"Get  me  away,  Doc.  The  woods  is  full  of  'em 
huntin'  me,"  the  other  said,  fiercely,  tightening  his  grip. 
"They  know  I'm  somewhere  about."  His  look  darted 
to  the  forest  below  and  back  again,  the  look  of  a  wild 
animal  at  bay.  "They've  turned  me  out  of  one  hole 
after  another,  kept  me  on  the  run  for  a  week — and  I  had 
to  have  grub.  Last  night  they  nearly  got  me  up  by  the 
Three  Sisters,  but  I  slipped  through  'em.  The  hell- 
hounds! I  could  have  shot  one  of  'em  easy  and  still 


246  CRYDER 

got  away,  but  I  didn't,  though  if  they  keep  on  chasin' 
me  I'll  kill  'em  all.  At  ma's  house  I  tried  to  sneak 
up  for  some  food.  A  man  was  there  watching;  there's 
always  one  there.  He  saw  me  and  I  beat  it  down  the 
creek,  then  doubled  back  through  the  brush  and  got  up 
here.  Mrs.  Mercer  gave  me  something  to  eat — God 
bless  her!" 

His  voice  broke  at  the  last  words  and  two  tears  sud- 
denly rolled  down  his  haggard,  bearded  cheeks. 

"Let  me  take  you  to  Maronville  and  turn  you  over, 
Nick,"  Cryder  said.  "No  jury  will  convict  you.  You 
were  attacked;  you  hit  the  fellow  in  self-defense.  Your 
case  is  made  only  worse  by  hiding." 

"Not  on  your  life.  They'll  railroad  me  to  a  noose," 
the  fugitive  exclaimed,  wildly. 

"I'll  pledge  you  my  honour  they  won't.  We'll  hire 
the  best  lawyers  in  the  land  and  fight  them  to  a  finish — 
and  beat  them!" 

"Not  by  a  damned  sight!  You  don't  get  me  behind 
any  bars.  I'll  take  my  chance  in  the  hills." 

"Trust  me,  Nick." 

"I  don't  trust  anybody  when  my  neck's  at  stake. 
They'd  get  me.  They'd  pack  the  jury  and  buy  the 
judge  and  railroad  me  to  the  gallows,  I  tell  you.  I'm 
goin'  to  keep  loose,  if  for  nothing  more  than  to  get 
Wagner." 

"Don't  make  your  hanging  sure,  Nick,"  Cryder  said, 
sharply.  "Skip  if  you  will,  but  throw  your  gun  away." 

A  glare  of  fury  was  the  answer  to  this. 

"Not  much.  And  say,  are  you  goin'  to  help  me  or 
let  'em  catch  me?  Damn  you,  Doc,  you  got  to  do  it. 


BROUGHT  LOW  247 

Didn't  I  work  for  you?  Didn't  I  always  treat  you 
square?  They've  pocketed  me  here,  I'm  saying', 
and- 

"Get  in  my  car,"  the  surgeon  abruptly  cut  him  off. 
"Throw  the  robe  over  you.  Wait  till  I  get  you  some- 
thing to  put  on  instead  of  those  rags.  I'm  going  up  to 
the  mining  camp  and  there  I'll  give  you  some  money, 
and  then  you  leave  this  part  of  the  country.  Do  you 
hear?  Get  over  the  range,  head  for  Canada." 

"I'm  goin'  across  the  river." 

"You're  not!  You're  leaving  here  altogether.  No 
more  hiding  in  these  hills.  Now  get  in  and  cover  your- 
self." 

Cryder  strode  to  his  cabin  and  disappeared  within. 
When  he  returned  he  carried  a  bundle  of  clothes,  which 
he  tossed  into  his  runabout  beside  the  concealed  youth. 
As  he  was  about  to  step  up  into  the  car,  two  panting 
men  broke  from  the  underbrush  along  the  edge  of  the 
ridge  and  came  forward. 

"Here,  you,  don't  you  go  till  we've  had  a  look  in 
your  buildings,"  one  ordered,  arrogantly,  a  heavy- 
jowled,  moustached  fellow  carrying  a  Winchester. 

"Show  your  warrant  to  search  my  buildings,"  the 
surgeon  responded,  curtly. 

"This  is  all  the  warrant  we  need  with  you  Kettle 
Creekers,"  the  other  exclaimed  with  an  oath,  tapping 
his  rifle. 

Walking  close  to  the  man  Cryder  looked  him  up  and 
down,  his  thick  eyebrows  close-drawn  and  his  lips  shut 
tight. 

"You  fellows  have  annoyed  me  about  enough,"  said 


248  CRYDER 

he.  "Show  your  dirty  badge."  The  man  flung  back 
a  side  of  his  unbuttoned  vest,  revealing  a  round  metal 
disk  fastened  to  the  lining.  "Not  even  deputies," 
Cryder  continued,  contemptuously.  "Just  a  pair  of 
private  operatives.  Now  listen.  When  you  come  here 
next  time  bring  a  warrant,  or  you're  going  to  be  filled 
with  buckshot.  You  may  be  able  to  intimidate  some 
of  the  ignorant  folks  down  there  along  the  creek,  but 
you  can't  make  it  go  with  me.  I  know  my  legal  rights. 
By  the  almighty,  I'll  do  exactly  as  I  say,  give  you  a 
barrel  of  buckshot!" 

"Just  for  that  we'll  run  you  down  to  Maronville  for 
obstructing  justice,"  the  big-jowled  operative  retorted, 
threateningly.  "We've  had  our  eye  on  you.  It's 
about  time  to  begin  arresting  some  of  you  Kettle 
Creekers." 

"Why,  you  big  jelly-fish,  you  lay  a  hand  on  me  and 
I'll  beat  the  life  out  of  you!"  Cryder  thundered. 

He  turned  about. 

"Stop,  or  we'll  shoot." 

"Shoot  and  be  damned." 

The  surgeon's  broad  back  remained  toward  them. 
Reaching  the  car  Cryder  stepped  in,  slammed  the  door, 
snapped  the  starter.  The  engine  began  to  hum. 

"Say,  you "  cried  the  man  with  the  gun. 

But  the  big  physician  was  talking  again. 

"Trying  to  stop  me  when  I've  an  ileoproctostomy 
to  operate  this  afternoon.  The  nerve  of  it!  For  two- 
bits  I'd  boot  you  down  the  hill  to  teach  you  manners." 
He  jerked  back  the  lever,  throwing  the  car  into  gear. 
"And  mind,  next  time  if  you  haven't  a  warrant  you  get 


BROUGHT  LOW  249 

a  charge  of  buckshot.  Stick  that  in  your  thick  head 
and  let  it  stay  there."  The  car  was  moving;  the  two 
men  on  the  ground  waving  arms  futilely.  "But  I 
suppose  you're  too  much  of  a  fool.  It's  been  my  ob- 
servation that  the  worst  fools  become,  and  why  I  don't 
know,  either  private  detectives  or  chiropractors.  Fact. 
I  sawed  through  a  private  operative's  head  once 
.  not  a  drop  of  blood  .  .  .  solid  ivory  all 
the  way  .  .  .  amazing.  .  .  ." 

The  words  trailed  off  and  died  as  the  car,  gathering 
speed,  moved  away.  It  passed  behind  a  clump  of 
bushes  and  reappeared,  slipped  among  the  scattered 
pines  that  grew  fifty  yards  behind  the  buildings  and  at 
last,  gliding  down  the  hillside,  vanished  into  the  forest. 

in 

It  had  always  been  Schuyler  Patterson's  opinion 
that  women,  prone  as  they  were  to  act  on  impulse, 
were  not  fitted  by  nature  or  temperament  successfully 
to  manage  business  affairs;  they  were  too  impatient, 
they  could  not  play  a  waiting  game.  And  therefore  he 
was  not  surprised  when  Mrs.  Forsythe  telephoned  him 
one  day  near  the  end  of  July  that  she  would  accept  his 
offer  for  her  house  and  asked  that  the  transaction  be 
immediately  closed,  as  she  was  leaving  Maronville. 
He  had  made  her  a  cash  offer  considerably  below  the 
value  of  the  property.  Undoubtedly  he  should  be  able 
to  sell  the  dwelling  later  at  a  good  margin  of  profit  and 
meanwhile  as  a  home  for  Frances  and  him  after  their 
marriage,  until  they  moved  away,  it  would  be  admira- 
ble. The  house  was  a  large  bungalow  purchased  by 


25o  CRYDER 

Forsythe  when  he  first  came  to  Maronville,  newly  built 
then,  substantially  constructed  and  "modern"  in  all 
respects. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  had  stood  out  for  the  price  she  had 
set  on  the  place,  refusing  even  to  consider  his  offer  until 
now.  In  order  to  consummate  the  sale  before  she 
should  again  change  her  mind  he  filled  in  a  deed  form 
describing  the  property,  arranged  with  Emmons  of 
the  Citizens'  National  Bank  for  a  loan,  and  drew  a 
check  for  the  amount  of  the  payment.  Then  he  called 
Mrs.  Forsythe,  who  stated  that  she  would  come  to  his 
office  at  once. 

"You  can  take  possession  in  two  or  three  days,"  said 
she,  folding  the  check  and  placing  it  in  her  purse  after 
the  deed  had  been  signed,  witnessed,  and  sealed.  "I 
shall  leave  town  to-night,  but  it  will  take  that  long  for 
the  packers  to  crate  and  store  my  furniture." 

"I  take  it  that  you're  leaving  permanently,  Mrs. 
Forsythe,"  the  lawyer  remarked,  slipping  a  rubber  band 
around  the  deed  and  the  abstract  of  title  which  he 
already  had  examined  and  found  satisfactory.  "We 
shall  miss  your  charming  company." 

"Don't  let  Miss  Huff  hear  you  say  that,"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  smile  slightly  edged  and  a  shake  of  her 
head.  "Well,  this  finishes  the  business,  doesn't  it? 
You've  a  bargain  in  the  house,  Mr.  Patterson,  and  it 
will  make  a  pretty  nest  for  your  bride.  Frances  is  a 
dear  sweet  girl,  lovely  and  innocent.  After  all,  there 
probably  was  nothing  more  than  idle  flirtation  in  her 
affair  last  summer  with  Doctor  Cryder — a  bit  of  senti- 
mental spooning." 


BROUGHT  LOW  251 

Patterson  rose  and  bowed,  indicating  an  end  to  the 
appointment.  "As  you  say,  the  business  of  the  trans- 
fer of  the  property  is  concluded.  If  hereafter  I  can  be 
of  any  service  to  you,  Mrs.  Forsythe,  don't  hesitate  to 
call  upon  me.  And  now" — he  lifted  some  documents 
from  his  desk  and  gazed  at  them  with  an  air  of  ab- 
straction—  "I  have  a  legal  conference  at  twelve,  and 
it's  nearly  that  now.  If  you  will  excuse  me — 

As  she  descended  the  stair  of  the  building  to  the 
street,  the  woman  had  a  lively  desire  to  annihilate  the 
tall,  thin,  namby-pamby  lawyer,  who  had  regarded  her 
with  glacial  eyes  through  his  pince-nez  and  given  the 
point  of  his  Vandyke  a  little  twist  with  finger  and  thumb 
and  so  coolly  dismissed  her.  For  all  his  air,  he  wasn't 
to  be  trusted.  These  men  who  were  so  prudish  and 
prim  needed  watching,  by  all  she  had  discovered;  and 
if  he  was  not  a  tricky  individual  then  she  would  bob 
her  hair  and  roll  her  stockings  and  say  she  knew  nothing. 
But  he  would  have  no  trouble,  she  supposed,  in  pulling 
the  wool  over  Frances  Huff's  eyes.  Thank  God,  she 
herself  was  leaving  this  hateful  spot! 

At  the  First  National  Bank,  where  she  carried  her 
account,  she  deposited  Patterson's  check  and  drew  a 
quantity  of  cash  for  her  railway  journey.  This  done, 
she  proceeded  to  the  Gaines  Furniture  Store,  where  she 
arranged  with  Mr.  Gaines  to  send  a  packer  to  her  home 
at  one  o'clock.  She  would  take  her  linen  and  silver 
with  her,  but  the  rest  Mr.  Gaines  should  look  after; 
furniture,  carpets,  china,  pictures,  books,  the  fittings  of 
the  whole  dwelling;  in  fact,  crating  and  boxing  them, 
storing  them,  and  shipping  them  to  her  on  her  order. 


252  CRYDER 

Leaving  a  detailed  list  of  articles  in  the  house  with  him, 
she  took  her  departure. 

But  she  yet  had  one  last  errand  in  town  before  re- 
turning home,  before  shaking  from  her  hem  forever  the 
dust  of  Maronville. 

In  Sherill's  Drug  Store  she  sought  information  from 
Archie  Hay  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Pinney  abode. 
It  was  somewhere  down  near  the  end  of  Columbia 
Street,  in  the  direction  of  the  sawmill,  near  the  edge 
of  town,  it  appeared.  The  youth's  vagueness  was  ac- 
counted for,  perhaps,  by  certain  anxieties  at  the  mo- 
ment burdening  him,  for  he  seemed  to  be  a  trifle 
nervous,  less  alert,  less  snappy  than  usual,  even  short 
in  his  replies. 

Going  forth  into  the  street  again,  Mrs.  Forsythe 
raised  her  sunshade  and  set  sail  for  Columbia  Street. 
Walking  in  the  heat  was  an  annoyance,  but  she  had 
ordered  her  car  overhauled  preparatory  to  shipment 
and  it  was  in  the  garage.  With  a  vindictive  satisfaction 
she  consoled  herself  by  the  thought  that  she  would  be 
away  from  the  wretched  town  in  a  few  hours,  with  its 
pretensions  of  being  a  city,  with  its  claptrap  about 
melons  and  prunes  and  greatness,  with  its  village  prej- 
udices and  humdrum  existence. 

Inquiring  at  a  small,  square  white  cottage  near  where 
she  imagined  the  Pinney  dwelling  should  be,  she  was 
directed  by  a  staring  girl  to  the  second  house  beyond, 
a  structure  identical  in  size,  shape,  and  colour  with  the 
one  where  she  had  knocked.  It  was  such  a  place  as  she 
would  have  guessed  the  Pinneys  would  live  in.  Across 
an  unfenced  stretch  of  ground  she  beheld  the  plant 


BROUGHT  LOW  253 

of  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association.  Though  a 
thin  trail  of  brown  vapour  floated  from  the  smoke- 
stack, the  saws  were  still.  It  was  the  noon  hour. 
She  wondered  if  Pinney  came  home  to  eat,  and  hoped 
not. 

Myra,  in  a  soiled  wrapper  and  dingy  dust  cap,  came 
in  answer  to  her  tap  on  the  panel,  gasped,  turned  a 
bright  red,  and  stammered:  "Oh,  my!  I  ain't  dressed! 
This  is  my  wash-day.  If  I  had  known  you  was  comin' 
to  call!"  To  Mrs.  Forsythe's  nostrils  floated  an  odour 
of  soapy  steam,  wet  clothes,  and  cooking  cabbage. 

"Don't  allow  your  appearance  to  disturb  you  for  one 
minute,  my  dear,"  said  the  visitor.  "We  women  all 
look  a  fright  when  we're  doing  housework.  Ordinarily 
I  shouldn't  have  run  round  to  see  you  at  this  unholy 
hour,  but  I  simply  couldn't  leave  town,  Mrs.  Pinney, 
without  saying  good-bye  to  you  after  our  lovely  talk 
the  other  day.  You  made  such  an  impression  on  me. 
I'm  going  away  to-night,  you  know." 

"For  good?" 

"Yes,  permanently.  I've  sold  my  house  and  now 
there's  nothing  to  keep  me.  And  then  I've  so  many 
unhappy  memories  here;  my  poor  husband,  you  remem- 
ber, who  was  drowned  under  such  tragic  circumstances. 
Staying  here  so  weighs  on  my  mind!  And  I've  always 
felt,  too,  that  the  Hedley  company  somehow  shouldn  't 
have  put  Jim  in  danger,  and  ever  since  his  death  I've 
felt  a  little  bitter  toward  it.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'll 
just  step  in  for  a  moment  where  we  can  talk  comfort- 
ably- 

"No,"   said   Myra,    firmly.     "Come   round   to   the 


254  CRYDER 

side  of  the  house.  There's  a  bench  there  in  the  shade. 
Inside  everything's  just  a  mess.  Like  me.  Well,  no 
matter  how  I  look  I'm  tickled  to  pieces  you  come  before 
goin'.  But  I  wish  you  wasn't  leavin';  we  was  gettin' 
to  be  such  good  friends." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  bench,  evidently  of  Pinney's 
own  craftsmanship. 

"We  are  very  good  friends,  I  agree,"  Mrs.  Forsythe 
responded  when  they  had  seated  themselves. 

"I  was  tellin'  Pinney  after  I  saw  you  at  the  drug  store 
how  swell  you  are,  though  to  be  sure  he  hardly  listened. 
He's  all  wrapped  up  in  the  mill,  so  he  scarcely  thinks  or 
talks  of  anything  else.  Poor  man,  he  has  an  awful  load 
of  troubles!" 

"Doctor  Cryder  not  the  least  of  them,  I  suppose?" 

"I  should  say  not!  Sometimes  I  just  wish  I  had  him 
where  I  could  wring  his  neck.  To  see  him  trampin' 
round  the  sawmill  and  pokin'  into  things  and  givin' 
orders,  you'd  think  he  was  manager  instead  of  Pinney. 
That  Doc  Cryder  would  ruin  everything  if  it  wasn't 
for  my  husband,  I'm  tellin'  you,  Mrs.  Forsythe.  Never 
was  such  a  man." 

"And  what  about  the  bonds?"  the  visitor  asked. 

"They  ain't  sold  yet,  of  course." 

A  twirl  of  the  closed  sunshade  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Forsythe  followed  Myra's  vigorous  assertion.  She 
gazed  at  the  gross,  fleshy  young  woman  with  steam- 
reddened  hands  and  heated  face,  who  revealed  in  her 
shapeless  wrapper  her  backwoods  character  and  origin. 

"Possibly  Mr.  Patterson  hasn't  tried  to  sell  your 
bonds,"  she  stated.  "I'm  not  saying  that  he  hasn't 


BROUGHT  LOW  255 

made  an  effort  to  do  so,  but,  my  dear  girl,  if  I  were  con- 
nected with  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association  I 
should  want  to  make  certain  of  the  fact,  very  certain. 
When  a  man  is  engaged  to  the  sister  of  the  rival  mill's 
superintendent — 

"Just  what  I  tell  Pinney!" 

"And  in  addition  hired  by  that  company,"  Mrs. 
Forsythe  continued  in  a  gentle  murmur,  "I  should  be 
inclined  to  view  with  a  little  suspicion— 

"Why — why,  is  he  workin'  for  Wagner,  too?"  Myra 
cried,  dumbfounded. 

"Oh,  yes.  He  receives  pay  from  the  Hedley  com- 
pany, though  he  keeps  it  quiet." 

"The  dirty  cheat!  Of  course  he  doesn't  want  to  sell 
our  bonds,  of  course  he  doesn't — and  I  '11  bet  Wagner, 
the  yellow  hound,  is  payin'  him  not  to!  I  told  Pinney 
no  good  would  come  from  havin'  a  lawyer  who  was 
engaged  to  that  Huff  girl;  and  he  wanted  to  fire  Patter- 
son as  our  lawyer,  but  Doc  Cryder  kept  him  from  doin* 
it.  He's  at  the  bottom  of  all  our  trouble."  Her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  in  heavy  agitation. 

"Why  should  he  so  strongly  champion  Patterson 
when  the  latter  is  retained  by  the  Hedley  Lumber 
Company,  I  wonder?"  said  Mrs.  Forsythe,  with  an  air 
of  reflection.  "It's  queer.  I  learned  recently,  more- 
over, that  the  bank  had  sold  your  company's  notes  to 
the  Hedley  company." 

"Does  Doc  know  that?"  Myra  asked,  breathlessly. 

"I'm  positive  he  does." 

"Why  hasn't  he  told  us  then?"  the  other  flared 
forth. 


256  CRYDER 

"If  I  were  you  I  should  ask  him." 

"We  shall." 

"He  owns  no  timber  himself,  I  understand." 

"Not  a  stick."  She  sat  transfixed  by  a  sudden 
thought,  then  burst  out,  "If  he  knows  Patterson's 
crooked,  he's  crooked  himself  in  workin '  to  keep  him 
in  with  us.  He  might  as  well  be  takin'  Wagner's 
money  with  his  own  hands.  And  maybe  he  is  gettin' 
some." 

"I  can't  imagine  Doctor  Cryder  being  bribed." 

"I  can — and  that's  just  what  I  think  now,"  Myra 
cried.  "I  understand  it  all  at  this  minute.  The 
Hedley  people  want  to  ruin  us  and  have  bought  Patter- 
son and  Doc  to  help  'em.  When  we  don't  sell  the  bonds 
and  lose  the  mill  Wagner  will  pay  them  a  big  roll." 
She  leapt  to  her  feet,  lifting  her  fists.  "They  ain't 
goin'  to  break  us,  I  tell  you!  It  ain't  too  late  yet,  now 
we  know!  Pinney  can  sell  the  bonds — and  we  got  to 
get  those  men  out!  The  rotten,  lyin',  sneakin*  dogs! 
I  wish  I  had  'em  here!" 

Mrs.  Forsythe  caught  her  arm. 

"But  I  didn't  say  that  they  had  sold  you  out." 

"You  don't  have  to  say;  I  know  now!"  Myra 
shrilled.  "All  the  time  I  felt  something  was  wrong  and 
told  Pinney,  but  he  couldn't  do  anything  with  Doc 
stickin'  up  for  Patterson  and  sayin'  he  was  square. 
No  wonder.  They're  workin'  together.  I  s'pose 
they'll  get  a  big  wad  for  their  dirty  work." 

Her  face  was  inflamed,  almost  brutal.  In  her  eyes  was 
a  smouldering  glow  of  wrath.  A  tremble  continually 
shook  her  limbs.  Mrs.  Forsythe  drew  away  from  this 


BROUGHT  LOW  257 

sudden  virago-like  fury,  this  Amazonian  shape  quiver- 
ing with  passion. 

"All  the  time  they  been  pretendin',  the  Judases!"  she 
raged  on.  "Maybe,  too,  they're  in  with  Wagner  in 
tryin'  to  catch  Nick." 

"No,  I  can  say  positively  that  Doctor  Cryder  isn't." 

"I  don't  believe  that!"  Myra  cried.  "If  they're 
snakes  enough  to  sell  us  out,  they'd  see  Nick  hung,  too." 
All  at  once  she  shook  with  heavy  sobs.  "Oh,  my  God, 
if  they  catch  Nick  they'll  hang  him  sure!"  She  ab- 
ruptly ceased  her  lamentation,  while  she  glanced  ir- 
resolutely about.  "I  got  to  tell  Pinney,"  said  she,  in  a 
terrified  voice.  "We  got  to  do  something  about  this 
thing." 

"I  should  if  I  were  in  your  place,"  Mrs.  Forsythe 
stated.  "If  you  quote  me,  be  sure  to  have  my  words 
straight  if  possible.  But  doubtless  you'll  say  I  told 
you  the  men  were  bribed,  which  wasn't  the  case. 
However" — she  shrugged — "it  makes  little  difference." 

"I  got  to  tell  Pinney  right  away,"  Myra  panted. 

"Run  along  then.      I  must  be  going  home  myself." 

"  I  got  to  go  to  the  office  this  minute,"  was  the  agitated 
reply.  Mrs.  Forsythe  questioned  if  the  other  were 
aware  of  her  at  all.  "We  must  do  something,"  Myra 
continued,  desperately,  "we  just  got  to  do  something." 

Turning  from  her  visitor  she  went  at  a  run  along  the 
house  and  out  into  the  street,  her  unbelted  dress 
flapping  about  her  legs  and  her  house  cap  blown  awry. 
Gaining  the  middle  of  the  road  she  ran  forward  with 
heavy  clumsy  strides  that  lessened  as  her  breath  be- 
came exhausted,  feeling  the  incubus  of  her  fat,  and  lurch- 


258  CRYDER 

ing  ahead  only  by  stupendous  effort.  Once  she  fell. 
But  immediately  she  scrambled  up,  frantic  and  shaken, 
obsessed  by  a  panic  of  fear,  to  stagger  on  again  toward 
the  sawmill. 

At  last  she  gained  the  gate  of  the  yard.  Perspira- 
tion was  streaming  down  her  face  and  an  insane  glare 
shone  in  her  eyes.  The  front  of  her  dress  was  brown 
with  dust;  her  hair  was  undone  and  hung  in  disorder 
about  her  neck;  her  breast  moved  in  convulsive  jerks. 
She  saw  nothing  of  the  stacks  of  lumber  before  her, 
nothing  of  the  workmen  eating  from  their  lunch  buckets 
by  the  end  of  the  mill  who  gazed  at  her  in  amazement, 
nothing  except  the  small  office  building  with  the  man- 
ager's name  on  the  door. 

This  she  finally  reached  after  infinite  effort.  She 
fell  half-fainting  against  the  lintel,  slumped  inward 
upon  the  floor,  motioning  feebly  toward  her  husband, 
who  as  if  paralyzed  at  this  unexpected  appearance 
gaped  at  her  in  a  stupor. 

"Pinney,  they  sold  us  out  to  Wagner,"  she  moaned. 

Dave  Hollister,  whittling  a  stick,  jumped  up.  He 
ran  to  the  girl. 

"  Hey,  you  sick  ?  Come  here,  Pinney.  Help  me  get 
her  up." 

They  raised  her  and  placed  her  on  a  chair  and  brought 
her  water.  She  drank,  but  seemed  incapable  of  speech. 

"Those  devils,  Doc  and  Patterson,  sold  out  to  Wag- 
ner," she  shrilled  suddenly.  "We  got  to  do  something." 

"Be  ca'm,  Myra,  be  ca'm,"  Hollister  soothed. 
"You're  excited  about  something.  Doc  never  would  sell 
out  anybody.  Who's  been  tellin '  you  such  a  yarn  ? " 


BROUGHT  LOW  259 

In  passionate  earnestness  the  young  woman  strove 
to  struggle  to  her  feet,  her  sweaty  face  distorted, 
quivering  yet  from  her  exhaustion,  a  sickly  crimson, 
blotched  and  stained. 

"It's  the  holy  truth,  Dave,"  she  said,  desperately. 
"I  just  learnt  it.  Mrs.  Forsythe  told  me  and  she  knows 
because  she  knows  all  about  the  Hedley  company,  her 
husband  havin'  been  manager  before  Wagner.  She 
said  Patterson  and  Doc  was  gettin'  money  secretly  to 
keep  the  bonds  from  bein'  sold,  so  we'd  be  ruined.  She 
said  Wagner  had  our  notes,  bought  from  the  bank.  She 
said  Patterson  was  lawyer  for  the  Hedley  people,  too. 
She  said  Doc  knew  all  about  it  and  was  keepin'  still 
because  he  would  get  a  big  wad' when  we  went  broke. 
I  tell  you  I  ain't  lyin'.  She  was  just  at  my  house  and 
told  me  because  she  doesn  't  want  to  see  us  ruined.  Oh, 
I  wish  you'd  never  put  Doc  on  the  board  or  hired  that 
slick  lawyer!  I  wish  to  God  lightnin'  would  strike  'em 
both  dead!"  She  sank  back  on  the  chair,  still  gulping 
for  breath.  "And  Doc  is  helpin'  to  catch  Nick," 
she  whimpered. 

Neither  man  spoke.  Pinney,  in  a  paroxysm  of  ner- 
vousness, twitched  and  jerked  and  swallowed,  rendered 
speechless  by  his  wife's  revelations.  Hollister  mechan- 
ically munching  tobacco  stared  at  Myra,  impressed 
if  not  wholly  convinced  by  her  words.  Of  her  sincerity 
and  her  deadly  earnestness  there  could  be  no  doubt;  her 
very  soul  was  vibrating  under  the  tremendous  emotion 
of  her  belief. 

Dave  glanced  at  the  stick  he  had  been  whittling  and 
flung  it  aside.  Then  he  looked  at  Pinney. 


26o  CRYDER 

"You  and  me  will  go  and  see  Patterson  right  now," 
he  announced.  "And  afterwards  we'll  see  Doc  if 
necessary."  For  a  moment  longer  he  munched  his 
quid  and  stared  fixedly  at  the  wall  across  the  room. 
Then  he  shook  his  head.  "Nope,  you  can't  make  me 
believe  Doc  would  ever  sell  us  out;  it  just  wouldn't 
be  natural." 

"But  he  did,  he  did!"  Myra  shrilled.  "Ain't  he 
always  stuck  up  for  Patterson  through  thick  and  thin 
against  us  all?  And  if  Patterson's  takin'  money  from 
Wagner,  don't  that  show  Doc's  crooked,  too?  I  tell 
you,  Dave,  they're  goin'  to  ruin  us  if  they  can.  Nei- 
ther of  'em  are  Kettle  Creekers.  Neither  of  'em  own  a 
stick  of  timber.  Both  of  'em  look  on  us  as  poor, 
ignorant,  wretched  people  'neath  'em.  When  they 
break  us  and  Wagner  grabs  our  mill  and  timber  they'll 
be  paid  a  big  roll  of  money  and  will  clear  out  and  we'll 
never  see  'em  again.  And  what  will  we  be?  Paupers, 
just  paupers,  who  were  fools  and  let  'emselves  be 
skinned.  For  God's  sake,  Dave,  can't  you  see?  And 
you  so  sharp?" 

Hollister's  artificial  teeth  snapped  together  in  an 
angry  click. 

"Nobody's  skinned  us  yet,"  he  growled.  "Come 
along,  Pin.  We'll  go  uptown  and  see  Patterson.  And 
if  he's  holdin'  out  anything  on  us,  we'll  sure  make  him 
talk." 

IV 

On  the  following  afternoon  Cryder  was  asleep  in  his 
cabin  when  he  was  aroused  by  Mrs.  Mercer.  He 


BROUGHT  LOW  261 

grunted  something  unintelligible  and  turned  over  for  a 
further  snooze,  heaving  his  big  body  upon  his  side, 
only  partially  awake,  his  mind  in  a  semi-stupor.  For 
thirty-six  hours  he  had  been  fighting  for  the  life  of  a 
boy  in  Berger  who  had  been  bitten  in  the  side  by  a 
rattlesnake,  twice,  deeply  each  time,  sheer  through  the 
little  chap 's  thin  shirt  in  the  flesh  with  each  plunge  of 
the  fangs. 

He  had  kept  him  alive,  lifted  him  over  the  crisis,  and 
had  returned  home  only  when  the  effect  of  the  serpent's 
venom  had  been  retarded.  The  youngster  would  live. 
Whoever  said  a  snake-bite  couldn't  kill  didn't  know 
what  he  was  talking  about!  Cryder  in  his  ten  years' 
sojourn  at  Kettle  Creek  had  seen  one  man  and  two 
children  die  from  reptiles'  alkaloidal  poison.  And  now 
he  had  just  got  to  sleep  when  his  housekeeper  awakened 
him. 

"Folks  to  see  you,  folks  come  to  see  you  on  business, 
Doc,"  she  kept  mumbling  insistently,  until  at  last  he 
opened  his  eyes  wide,  grunted  sourly,  swung  himself  off 
the  bed  and  upon  his  feet. 

"If  they're  some  bunch  of  idiots  who  come  here  be- 
cause they've  nothing  else  to  do,  I  '11  break  their  necks," 
he  exclaimed,  peevishly. 

The  brief  nap  he  had  had  left  him  unrefreshed.  Of 
late  he  appeared  to  tire  more  quickly  than  of  old  and 
to  regain  his  vigour  only  by  greater  periods  of  sleep. 

"It's  Kettle  Creek  folks  and  they  say  it's  important 
you  be  waked,"  the  old  woman  explained.  "They's 
a  lot  of  'em.  Pinney  and  Myra — ain't  she  gettin'  fat? 
— and  Dave  Hollister,  and  old  Arnold  Meek,  and  Ole 


262  CRYDER 

Swanson,  and  a  raft  of  'em.  Regular  delly-gation. 
Guess  somepin's  happened.  They  don't  look  none  too 
pleasant,  neither,  Doc.  Don't  know  what  they  want; 
I  asked  'em,  knowin'  you  didn't  want  to  be  waked,  and 
Pinney  told  me  real  sharp  to  mind  my  business  and 
bring  you  out.  I  never  took  no  stock  in  that  Pinney, 
and  Myra's  got  so  stuck  up,  I  hear,  since  she  married 
him  and  went  to  town,  puttin'  on  high-falutin'  airs 
and- 

Cryder  heard  no  more,  for  he  stalked  out  of  the  cabin 
and  out  of  sound  of  her  querulous  voice.  Before  the 
door  he  halted  in  surprise,  staring  sleepily  at  the  group 
of  visitors.  In  the  forefront  stood  Pinney,  with  Myra 
by  his  side  and  directors  of  the  lumber  company  close 
about  him.  Behind  this  compact  body  were  two  or 
three  score  of  other  Kettle  Creekers,  the  greater  number 
men,  the  rest  women  and  children.  Quite  as  Mrs. 
Mercer  had  stated,  the  little  crowd  had  the  look  of  a 
"delly-gation." 

"Well,  folks,  what's  up?"  he  questioned. 

Firmly  Pinney  drew  his  derby  hat  upon  his  head. 

"We've  come  to  ask  you  some  questions,"  he  an- 
nounced, "and,  Doctor  Cryder,  we  demand  truthful 
answers." 

"Shoot  away,  Pinney." 

"Were  you  aware  that  Patterson  was  secretly  re- 
tained by  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company?"  Pinney 
asked. 

"I  heard  it  recently." 

"  But  you  said  nothing  about  it." 

"Haven't    had    time,"    Cryder    responded.      "I've 


BROUGHT  LOW  263 

not  been  to  town  since  I  learned  the  fact.  Is  that 
what's  sticking  in  your  craw?  What  if  he  is?  On 
thinking  the  matter  over,  I  decided  there  was  nothing 
wrong  about  the  circumstance.  Companies  retain 
half  a  dozen  lawyers;  it's  a  custom;  we  could  retain 
Gersinger,  the  Hedley  Lumber  Company's  lawyer,  if  we 
wished.  The  thing  isn't  important  enough  to  discuss." 

"Did  you  know  Wagner  had  secured  our  notes?" 
Pinney  continued. 

"Heard  that,  too,  yes." 

"But  said  nothing  to  the  rest  of  us." 

"Well,  what  difference  does  it  make  who  holds  them? 
They  have  to  be  paid,  or  the  collateral  will  be  forfeited. 
Our  notes  are  negotiable;  banks  frequently  sell  the 
paper  they  hold.  Nothing  out  of  the  way  with  that. 
As  for  telling  you,  I  first  thought  of  doing  so,  then  con- 
cluded it  best  to  keep  still.  It  would  only  have  given 
you  a  cause  for  worry  without  doing  any  good." 

All  at  once  Myra,  with  face  blazing,  shouted  that  he 
was  a  liar.  Pinney  immediately  hushed  her,  drew  her 
back.  To  the  surgeon  her  malignant  expression  and 
angry  utterance,  capping  this  unexpected  inquiry,  filled 
the  moment  with  an  incredible  extravagance.  Was  he 
dreaming?  Were  these  Kettle  Creek  folk  before  him? 

Pinney  jerked  his  chin  over  his  collar,  on  one  side  and 
then  on  the  other,  settled  himself,  and  gave  Cryder  a 
baleful  glance. 

"Yesterday  we  learned  that  Patterson  was  secretly 
in  Wagner's  pay  and  was  in  consequence  making  no 
effort  to  sell  the  bonds.  Dave  Hollister  and  I  went 
to  him  and  questioned  him.  He  did  not  deny  that  he 


264  CRYDER 

was  in  the  employ  of  the  company,  our  competitor, 
though  he  made  some  such  an  excuse  as  you've  made. 
He  did  not  deny  that  he  knew  the  Hedley  concern  had 
our  notes  and  collateral,  the  deeds  to  our  timber.  And 
he  could  not  show  us  why  he  had  not  sold  the  bonds, 
only  pretending  there's  no  market  for  them." 

"Well,  money  is  tight,  isn't  it?" 

"I  can  sell  them;  I.  could  have  sold  them  long  ago 
if  you  hadn't  blocked  me." 

"You  could  do  a  lot — in  your  mind,"  Cryder  retorted. 

"Your  sneers  don't  affect  me,  sir,"  Pinney  stated,  in  a 
gust  of  rage.  "We  have  the  bonds  now  and  I  shall 
sell  them.  I'm  leaving  for  New  York  to-night,  where 
I  shall  dispose  of  them  immediately  to  best  advantage. 
The  Hedley  Lumber  Company  shall  not  squeeze  us  on 
those  notes  or  seize  our  property,  I  warn  you,  in  spite 
of  everything  you  and  Patterson  are  doing  to  bring 
that  about." 

"I?     You're  crazy,  man!" 

"I'm  perfectly  sane.     I ' 

Impatiently  Dave  Hollister  pushed  him  aside. 

"Doc,  it's  been  said  you've  sold  us  out,  like  Patter- 
son did,"  he  stated,  bluntly.  "A  lot  of  'em  believe  it; 
some  of  us  don 't.  Tell  us  straight  whether  Wagner's 
money  has  dirtied  your  fingers." 

Cryder  gave  a  start.  This,  then,  was  the  maggot  in 
Kettle  Creek's  brain.  He  regarded  the  faces  before  him 
one  after  another — faces  suspicious,  faces  ignorant  and 
credulous,  faces  cunning,  faces  wearing  the  stamp  of 
simplicity  or  of  sharpness;  and  a  slow  wave  of  anger 
began  to  rise  in  his  breast. 


BROUGHT  LOW  265 

For  a  decade  they  had  known  him,  his  speech,  his 
acts,  his  principles.  His  life  had  been  as  an  open  book. 
In  their  need  he  had  succoured  them,  and  in  their  distress 
alleviated  their  pain,  and  in  their  sorrow  brought  them 
comfort.  For  what?  For  this.  If  after  ten  years 
they  now  could  focus  upon  him  such  an  outrageous  sus- 
picion, believe  him  capable  of  such  dishonour,  he  would 
not  attempt  to  alter  their  view. 

He  stepped  back  a  pace  and  folded  his  arms.  He 
said  nothing. 

"Look  at  him!  He  don't  dare  say  he  hasn't,  for 
he  has  taken  Wagner's  money!"  Myra  shrieked. 

Hollister  rubbed  his  hook  nose  in  perplexity. 

"Tell  us,  Doc,  and  shut  the  mouths  of  them  sayin' 
you  did,"  he  begged. 

"Not  a  word,  Dave." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  and  gazed  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd  at  the  forest,  at  the  sea  of  treetops  filling  the 
valley,  basking  in  the  golden  sunlight  of  afternoon. 

"Doctor  Cryder,  it  would  be  wisest  if  you'd  make  a 

statement  to  the  effect- "  Arnold  Meek  began  in 

his  deliberate  tones. 

But  Myra  Pinney  furiously  halted  him  by  a  push. 

"Ain't  he  as  good  as  convictin'  himself?  And  what 
more  do  we  need  than  the  word  of  Mrs.  Forsythe  who 
knows?" 

"Whose  word?"  Cryder  demanded. 

"Mrs.  Forsythe 's.  And  you  know  her;  don't  dare 
say  you  don't,"  Myra  flung  at  him,  furiously.  "Yes, 
sir,  it  was  her  who  showed  you  up.  She  knows  all  about 
you.  She  told  us  about  your  tricks,  yours  and  Patter- 


266  CRYDER 

son's.  And  you  can't  deny  'em.  Wagner  told  her 
himself,  not  thinkin'  she'd  tell.  He  said  he  was  payin ' 
you  and  payin'  Patterson  so  the  bonds  wouldn't  be 
sold.  He  told  her  you  was  workin'  with  him  ever  since 
the  company  was  organized.  He  said  you  and  Patter- 
son was  laughin'  behind  our  backs  how  you  was  knifin' 
us.  He  said  you'd  get  a  lot  of  money  when  the  Hedley 
company  had  our  timber  and  would  move  away.  He 
said  you  was  hired  to  keep  Pinney  from  'complishin' 
anything  and  to  fool  the  board.  He  said  you  was  a 
great  big  black-hearted  crook  and  just  the  man  he  could 
use.  He  said  a  lot  more,  too.  And  you  don't  deny 
it,  you're  afraid  to  deny  it." 

Cryder  lowered  his  eyes  to  her  vindictive  face. 

"Myra "  he  said,  gently. 

"Don't  'Myra'  me!"  she  cried,  fuming. 

Again  his  look  slowly  swept  the  little  company  of 
Kettle  Creekers.  Suddenly  a  wetness  blurred  his  eyes. 

In  his  way  he  loved  these  people,  had  devoted  his  life 
to  them.  A  sickness  of  soul  oppressed  him.  Turning, 
he  reentered  the  cabin  and  closed  the  door,  shutting  out 
the  jeers  and  shouts  of  "Traitor!"  cast  at  him  by  the 
more  violent  Kettle  Creekers.  Even  a  few  stones 
struck  on  the  wall. 

He  dropped  heavily  on  a  chair  and  sat  with  head  bent. 

This  now  the  woman  who  once  had  been  his  wife  had 
done,  destroying  by  a  lie  his  good  name  and  rousing 
against  him  a  flood  of  Kettle  Creek  hatred.  What  a 
wreck  she  had  made  of  his  life!  What  a  desert  of  his 
soul! 


CHAPTER    IV 
RISING  WIND 


FRANCES  HUFF,  as  August  drifted  to  a  close,  had 
become  occupied  with  a  new  subject — outdoor  rec- 
reation for  vacationists,  interesting  herself  in  the  mat- 
ter with  an  intensity  that  had  its  origin  possibly  in  the 
disappointment  she  suffered  from  the  annulment  of 
her  plan  by  the  board  for  small  circulating  libraries  in 
the  towns  up  the  river,  in  Berger,  Porcupine  Hill,  White 
Ford,  and  others.  The  members  of  the  board  had  con- 
sidered her  proposed  scheme  without  enthusiasm. 
Even  Schuyler  Patterson  had  smiled  rather .  conde- 
scendingly when  she  explained  it  to  him  and  doubted 
that  it  was  practical.  He  remarked,  in  addition,  that 
ranchers  and  miners  scarcely  would  appreciate  the  ser- 
vice. Others  of  the  board  more  bluntly  asserted  that 
the  Maronville  City  Library  was  for  the  city,  not  for 
remote  towns.  In  consequence,  Frances,  greatly  cha- 
grined at  the  outcome  of  her  beneficent  plan  and  dis- 
gusted with  the  selfish  attitude  of  the  library's  directors, 
tore  up  the  typed  proposal,  worked  out  in  detail,  and 
cast  it  in  the  waste  basket.  Schuyler,  at  least,  might 
have  shown  more  enthusiasm  for  the  enterprise.  And 
so  she  had  plunged  into  the  subject  of  vacationing,  on 

267 


268  CRYDER 

which  she  had  read  a  convincing  article  in  a  magazine. 
Its  theme  ran  that  grown-ups  should  avail  themselves 
of  America's  vast  expanse  of  wild  land  as  playground 
for  sane  health-gaining,  light  study,  and  roughing: 
camping,  tramping,  fishing,  kodaking,  sketching,  ob- 
serving insects,  plants,  and  animals,  exploring  and  moun- 
tain climbing.  Millions  of  Americans,  the  writer  as- 
serted, did  not  know  how  to  play.  Getting  back  to 
Nature  would  cure  innumerable  social  ills  and  dis- 
satisfactions, therefore  back  to  Nature.  Frances 
agreed  with  the  essay.  As  she  had  leisure  moments 
during  library  hours,  she  began  to  read  up  on  flowers, 
national  parks,  game  preservation,  and  exploration. 
A  plan  to  move  poor  people  from  congested  quarters  of 
large  cities  at  government  expense  to  mountains  and 
woods  for  vacations  began  to  take  form  in  her  mind. 
It  strongly  appealed  to  her.  Poor  people  seldom  had 
a  chance  to  get  into  the  real  outdoors.  And  she  felt 
herself  competent  to  develop  such  a  plan,  having  re- 
sided on  Kettle  Creek  for  two  months. 

Neither  to  Jack  nor  to  Schuyler  Patterson  did  she 
broach  this  new  interest;  the  one  would  scarcely  give 
it  heed  as  simply  a  fad,  while  the  other,  she  suspected, 
would  disapprove  of  it  with  an  indulgent  air  or  a 
faintly  ironical  comment.  Certain  vague  tremors  of 
spirit,  nervous  apprehensions  and  wonderments,  almost 
from  the  day  of  her  engagement  had  assailed  her  when 
she  contemplated  her  approaching  marriage.  Her 
fiance  had  revealed  on  the  one  hand  a  remarkable  lack 
of  imagination  in  some  directions  and  on  the  other  an 
unsuspected  rigidity  of  mind.  Perhaps,  she  thought, 


RISING  WIND  269 

these  traits  naturally  were  correlated.  And  she  had 
begun  to  suspect,  for  all  his  manner  of  gentle  good  na- 
ture and  of  consideration  for  others,  that  he  possessed 
no  actual  warm  sympathy  where  his  fellows  were  con- 
cerned. 

Once  he  had  described  himself  to  her  as  "a  moderate 
conservative."  She  now  had  periods  of  speculating 
on  his  character,  analyzing  his  phrases  and  comments 
and  meditating  upon  the  intimate  association,  the  in- 
evitable adaptation  of  lives  which  follows  on  marriage. 
And  she  wondered  if  his  moderate  conservatism  would 
turn  out  in  the  end  a  narrow,  stark,  uncompromis- 
ing, chilling  intolerance — and  shivered;  wondered  if 
in  fact  his  suavity,  his  courtesy,  was  not  a  polish  in- 
stead of  an  ingrained  good-will — and  trembled;  won- 
dered if  at  heart  he  was  not  concerned  with  appearances 
rather  than  intrinsic  virtues,  with  success  rather  than 
principles — and  feared;  wondered  if  shallow  selfishness 
instead  of  a  broad  understanding  and  a  real  nobility 
constituted  his  nature — and  shuddered.  To  discover 
when  bound  to  him  that  he  was  such  a  man  would  make 
her  infinitely  wretched,  kill  her  love.  Her  husband 
must  be  one  who  by  his  capacity  for  sympathy  and 
noble  actions  would  hold  her  affection  and  esteem. 
Egotism  in  one  form  or  another  appeared  an  innate 
characteristic  of  men;  all  had  it,  Jack,  Wagner,  Cryder, 
Patterson,  even  the  humblest  of  the  sex;  it  seemed  to  be 
fixed  in  the  bone,  to  flow  in  the  blood,  to  rise  with  the 
breath,  a  male  idiosyncrasy.  Woman  must  recognize 
it  as  a  stubborn  and  inexorable  fact.  But  at  least  she 
could  choose  among  its  various  forms;  and  as  for  Frances, 


27o  CRYDER 

she  would  take  every  time  an  egotism  in  a  frame  of  big 
qualities.  One  in  a  mere  waistcoat  would  drive  her 
insane. 

About  this  time,  also,  she  discovered  Patterson's 
chin.  She  was  amazed  that  she  could  have  gazed  at  her 
fiance  for  months  and  not  have  perceived  that  his  chin 
was  slightly  retreating  and  more  sharply  pointed  than 
she  had  supposed.  In  the  fact  of  his  Vandyke's  cover- 
ing it  was  a  reason,  perhaps,  for  not  earlier  remarking 
its  shape;  the  beard  gave  it  a  fullness  that  in  reality  did 
not  exist.  A  prize-fighter's  chin  was  not  what  Frances 
desired  in  a  husband,  a  bull-dog  chin,  but  nevertheless 
she  was  sure  a  chin  should  possess  a  certain  force. 
Doctor  Cryder,  for  instance,  had  a  good  chin.  Some- 
where she  had  read  that  a  pointed,  modified  chin 
indicated  a  disposition  inclined  to  subtlety  rather  than 
frankness.  Of  course  she  put  no  great  faith  in  such 
interpretations;  but  in  the  circumstance  she  found  a 
mixed  curiosity  and  worry.  She  began  to  study 
chins. 

When  Jack  brought  Mr.  Wagner  home  one  evening 
to  dinner  she  furtively  considered  at  some  length  this 
particular  feature  of  his  physiognomy.  Wagner  had  a 
chin  about  which  there  could  be  no  two  ways  of  think- 
ing. It  was  like  a  log  end. 

ii 

With  expanding  satisfaction  Frances  observed  her 
guest  eating  with  heartiness  the  dinner  she  had  pre- 
pared. 

"Somehow  I  don't  understand  how  Jack  has   been 


RISING  WIND  271 

able  to  keep  you  as  long  as  he  has,"  he  remarked  one 
time  during  the  meal,  smiling.  "They  talk  of  the 
cooking  of  French  chefs!  But  you  put  the  skids  under 
all  of  them,  Miss  Huff." 

"Because  of  that  compliment  you  may  have  another 
helping,"  said  she.  "Jack,  give  Mr.  Wagner  a  chop 
and  some  more  potatoes  and  peas.  No,  Mr.  Wagner, 
please  don't  refuse;  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say, 
that  you've  been  served  twice  already.  But  that's 
nothing.  I  know  the  appetite  a  sawmill  develops; 
Jack  brings  one  home  every  evening  which  he  can 
scarcely  lug  through  the  door.  That's  why  his  shoul- 
ders are  growing  thick  and  bulgy." 

A  bright  colour  was  in  her  cheeks,  the  glow  of  excite- 
ment rising  from  entertaining  an  important  guest.  For 
a  long  time  Jack  had  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  mana- 
ger to  dine  with  them,  unsuccessfully  until  this  night. 
It  was  like  a  fixed  principle  with  Wagner  to  avoid  all 
company  involving  sociality  even  in  a  limited  degree; 
he  declined  invitations  to  Commercial  Club  luncheons, 
to  political  or  civic  gatherings,  to  affairs  of  all  kinds 
which  came  to  him  now  by  virtue  of  managership  of 
the  Hedley  Lumber  Company,  Maronville's  most  im- 
portant industrial  concern,  and  to  those  business  ac- 
quaintances' homes  where  he  was  asked;  but  at  last 
he  had  yielded  to  Jack's  repeated  desire  that  he  come 
to  dinner. 

Frances  discovered  somewhat  to  her  surprise  that 
Wagner,  while  reticent,  was  not  impervious  to  outward 
influences.  As  the  meal  progressed  he  relaxed,  even 
expanded  a  little  in  amiability;  and  his  solid,  fleshy, 


272  CRYDER 

bearded  face  occasionally  creased  in  a  quizzical  ex- 
pression as  he  offered  a  bit  of  banter.  For  this  visit  he 
had  donned  a  suit  of  dark  hard  worsted,  evidently  his 
best  but  not  new,  and  wore  a  low  linen  collar  with  a 
black  bow  tie.  His  stockiness,  his  solid  corpulence 
was  as  marked  as  ever  in  this  garb;  a  blow  of  a  fist, 
Frances  fancied,  would  meet  in  him  resistance  as  heavy 
as  in  a  keg  of  nails.  But  his  efforts  to  be  agreeable, 
however  transient,  showed  that  he  was  human.  Under 
his  protective  armour  of  customary  indifference  and 
reserve,  the  stony  shell  formed  as  a  result  of  his  un- 
fortunate penal  experience,  it  was  possible  that  he  had 
many  likeable  qualities  and  a  sterling  character.  Jack, 
at  any  rate,  had  declared  such  to  be  a  fact. 

They  had  finished  eating  and  were  sitting  over  their 
cups  of  coffee  when  her  brother  spoke: 

"Pinney  is  back  from  New  York,  I   understand." 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "He  'phoned  me."  Observ- 
ing the  curiosity  in  Jack's  face  he  added,  "About  ob- 
taining an  extension  on  the  paper." 

"Had  made  no  sale,  of  course?" 

"No." 

That  seemed  to  be  all.  But  presently  Jack  turned 
to  Frances,  saying,  "I  hadn't  told  you,  I  recall.  Pat- 
terson resigned  as  fiscal  agent  and  attorney  for  the 
Kettle  Creek  company  and  Pinney  is  handling — or 
rather  trying  to  handle — the  association's  affairs,  in- 
cluding the  sale  of  bonds.  You  can  imagine  with  what 
result." 

"I  hadn't  heard  that,"  she  answered,  reflectively. 
"Schuyler  didn't  mention  it." 


RISING  WIND  273 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't.     A  business  matter." 

"I  know  he  was  expecting  to  sell  the  bonds  for  them. 
It's  quite  important  for  the  company  that  they  be  sold, 
isn't  it?"  she  queried. 

"They'll  lose  their  property  if  they're  not  sold." 

"Their  mill?" 

"Yes,  their  mill."  He  was  rubbing  the  ash  from  his 
cigar  in  an  ash-tray  with  a  slow  movement  of  his  hand, 
gazing  at  the  red  coal  uncovered.  "And  their  timber," 
said  he.  "All  their  property."  Again  a  pause.  "But 
of  course,  that  was  to  be  expected.  The  company  was 
shaky  from  the  beginning.  If  the  men  up  yonder  on 
Kettle  Creek  had  not  been  a  lot  of  crazy  fools  they 
would  have  accepted  Mr.  Wagner's  offer  last  summer, 
sold  their  claims  and  now  have  had  something.  If 
they  hadn't  allowed  their  blind  animosity  to  us  to 
destroy  their  judgment  they  would  have  perceived 
that  the  Hedley  concern  had  treated  them  fairly  all 
along,  and  particularly  so  in  that  last  offer.  Isn't 
that  the  case,  Mr.  Wagner?" 

"Yes." 

Jack  looked  at  Frances,  his  countenance  grown 
harder. 

"And  what  did  they  do?"  he  went  on.  "Stoned 
Mr.  Wagner.  Acted  like  a  lot  of  savages."  He  gave  a 
sniff  of  contempt  and  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  con- 
cluded, "Well,  there's  always  ways  of  handling  that 
kind  of  cattle,  if  not  in  one  way  then  in  another.  Pour 
Mr.  Wagner  some  hot  coffee,  Frankie." 

"You're  not  afraid  it  will  keep  you  awake?"  she 
said,  smiling,  and  lifting  his  cup  and  saucer  to  set  them 


274  CRYDER 

under  the  faucet  of  the  percolator.  "I  made  it  strong, 
as  most  men  like  it." 

"The  minute  I  stretch  myself  in  bed  I'm  asleep. 
Coffee  never  disturbs  me.  This  is  very  good,"  was  his 
response. 

Jack  also  passed  his  cup. 

"Frankie,  you  haven't  heard  the  latest  about  Wil- 
liams, have  you?"  he  asked,  grinning. 

"Not  engaged  at  last!" 

"No.  Still  safe  in  his  state  of  single  blessedness. 
He  was  roped  in  on  a  wienie  fry  up  the  river  the  other 
night  in  a  rather  mixed  crowd  and  the  girl  that  had  been 
picked  out  for  him  didn't  come.  When  he  arrived  at 
the  meeting  place,  someone's  house,  they  hooked  him 
up  with  Mrs.  Pinney.  Can  you  imagine?  She  didn't 
discover  who  was  her  escort  until  about  the  middle  of 
the  feed  when  someone  began  kidding  them  concerning 
the  amalgamation  of  the  Hedley  and  the  Kettle  Creek 
companies.  And  Mrs.  Pinney  immediately  went  up 
in  the  air.  She  gave  Williams  a  push  which  knocked 
him  against  the  coffee-pot  and  upset  the  coffee  over  the 
tablecloth  and  on  his  flannel  trousers,  and  said  it  was 
just  another  low-down  Hedley  company  trick  and 
Pinney  would  settle  his  hash  when  he  got  back  from 
New  York.  And  that  broke  up  the  picnic." 

"Poor  Mr.  Williams,  what  a  lot  of  bad  luck  he  has!" 
Frances  exclaimed,  laughing.  "Only  last  month  he 
had  that  accident  when  driving  a  young  lady  in  a  rented 
car  and  became  blinded  by  an  approaching  car's  head- 
lights, upsetting  in  a  ditch." 

"He  tore  his  trousers  then  and  had  to  walk  so-so," 


RISING  WIND  275 

said  Wagner,  with  a  shadowy  smile.  "He  should  buy 
them  by  the  dozen,  as  they  are  what  suffer  in  these 
affairs." 

The  conversation  was  checked  by  the  sound  of  rapid 
steps  on  the  porch  of  the  house.  Through  the  open 
front  door  they  could  hear  the  low  purring  of  an  auto- 
mobile at  the  curb.  They  sat  expectant,  listening,  in  the 
attitudes  in  which  at  the  moment  they  had  been  stilled. 
The  door-bell  rang  sharply  at  a  thrust  of  a  finger. 

"I'll  go,  Jack,"  Frances  said,  as  her  brother  moved 
to  rise. 

She  stood  up,  laid  her  napkin  on  the  tablecloth, 
and  went  from  the  room.  The  living  room  was  un- 
lighted,  but  through  the  small  entry  hall  she  could  see  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  screen  against  the  dim  star- 
light a  man's  vague,  motionless  form.  Pausing  in  the 
entry,  her  fingers  went  to  the  wall  switch  controlling 
the  porch  lamp,  and  at  its  snap  a  flood  of  radiance 
burst  over  the  visitor,  Doctor  Cryder. 

"Good  evening.  Is  your  brother  here,  Miss  Huff?" 
he  questioned  at  once.  "I've  some  important  in- 
formation for  the  Hedley  company  officials.  Couldn't 
locate  Wagner,  so  I  came  to  find  Jack." 

"Mr.  Wagner  is  here,  too." 

"Good.  May  I  see  them  immediately?  I  pre- 
sume you're  at  dinner  and  I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  you, 
but  this  matter  is  pressing." 

"By  all  means  come  in."  She  unhooked  the  screen 
and  pushed  it  open,  standing  aside  for  him  to  pass. 
"Wait.  I'll  turn  on  the  living-room  lights."  Her 
figure  moved  quickly  forward,  vanished,  then  came  the 


276  CRYDER 

click  of  a  button  and  the  answering  illumination  of  the 
room.  "This  way,  if  you  please,  Doctor  Cryder." 
And  as  they  passed  through  the  farther  doorway,  she 
said,  "Doctor  Cryder  wishes  to  see  you  and  Mr.  Wag- 
ner, Jack." 

Her  brother  rose,  a  flicker  of  annoyance  twitching 
his  brows  and  lips. 

"Sorry  to  break  in  on  you  at  an  inopportune  moment, 
Huff,"  the  surgeon  stated,  brusquely,  "but  my  visit 
couldn't  wait.  Good  evening,  Wagner.  I  went  to 
your  place  first,  but  your  landlady  didn't  know  where 
you  had  gone.  Glad  to  find  you  here."  He  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  men  with  an  air  of  serious- 
ness. "Well,  I'm  bringing  a  warning  of  an  attack  on 
your  mill,  of  which  I  learned  late  this  afternoon.  I'll 
name  no  names,  but  some  hot-heads  are  planning  to 
give  you  a  taste  of  'direct  action.'  There  are  a  few 
I.  W.  W.'s  on  Kettle  Creek,  and- 

"I  don't  know  why  you  say  a  few,"  Jack  grunted. 
But  Cryder  ignored  the  sarcasm. 

"They  are  out  to  make  you  trouble.  I  needn't  elabo- 
rate on  the  feeling  that  exists  or  on  events,  but  those 
chaps  of  whom  I  speak  think  that  things  have  gone 
to  a  point  requiring  a  remedy — and  you  know  what 
that  means  with  an  I.  W.  W." 

"Dynamite?"  Jack  asked. 

"Yes." 

Wagner  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose. 

"When  are  they  coming?" 

"Sometime  to-night.  My  informant  didn  't  know  the 
hour,  however." 


RISING  WIND  277 

"You  think  this  is  certain?" 

"Yes.  Unless  there's  a  change  at  the  last  minute. 
The  man  who  told  me  is  to  be  relied  on." 

Cryder  had  no  intention  of  revealing  more  than  he 
had  done  concerning  the  person  by  whom  he  had  been 
advised  of  the  plot.  The  man  was  Arnold  Meek. 
He  had  come  to  the  surgeon  in  much  perturbation  of 
mind  to  reveal  in  confidence  what  he  knew  and  to  take 
counsel  on  the  difficult  matter.  Accidentally  he  had 
overheard  at  the  door  of  the  McMurtrie  cabin  Mrs. 
McMurtrie  endeavouring  to  dissuade  her  husband,  Sam, 
from  participating  in  the  planned  attack,  a  concep- 
tion originating  in  Joe  Streeter's  malignant  and  law- 
less mind.  Only  half  a  dozen  men  had  been  enlisted 
for  the  secret  and  desperate  enterprise,  men  who  were 
reckless,  who  by  disposition  inclined  to  deeds  of  violence 
and  by  belief  to  hatred  of  established  institutions,  laws, 
and  capital.  The  bitter  hatred  against  the  Hedley 
company  in  the  community,  the  unceasing  pursuit  of 
Nichols,  the  disputes  and  fights  during  the  log-drive, 
the  seizure  of  Kettle  Creek  logs  and  the  court's  re- 
straining order,  the  apparent  impossibility  of  legally 
maintaining  the  association's  rights,  the  apparent 
treachery  of  Patterson  and  Cryder,  the  failure  to  sell 
the  association's  bonds,  the  prospective  loss  of  sawmill 
and  timber,  ruin — all  had  spread  a  black  cloud  of 
fury  and  despair  over  the  dwellers  in  the  little  valley; 
wherefore  Streeter  had  found  certain  men  ripe  for  vio- 
lence and  lost  no  time  in  starting  his  plot. 

Arnold  Meek,  listening  to  the  pleadings  of  the  wife 
and  the  sullen  refusals  of  the  husband,  her  arguments 


278  CRYDER 

and  his  denunciations,  had  learned,  if  not  all  the 
criminal  project,  at  least  enough  to  set  him  trembling. 
And  he  had  gone  to  the  surgeon  for  advice  and 
assistance. 

Cryder  had  heard  him  out.  It  was  then  four  o'clock. 
This  was  the  night  appointed  for  the  attack  and  the 
destruction  of  the  Hedley  plant.  He  rapidly  revolved 
in  his  mind  the  issues  presented  and  the  alternatives  of 
action,  but  at  last  he  informed  Arnold  Meek  that 
nothing  was  left  but  to  warn  Wagner.  The  thing 
had  gone  too  far  for  any  other  course,  though  it  were 
doubtful,  even  had  there  been  time,  if  the  men  could  be 
dissuaded  from  their  lawless  attempt.  Not  by  him,  in 
any  case.  Probably  by  no  one.  And  it  was  certainly 
incumbent  upon  the  two  of  them  as  good  citizens  to 
thwart  the  crime.  As  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  so, 
he  himself  would  go  to  Maronville  to  put  the  Hedley 
people  on  guard. 

"This  is  your  chance  to  get  square  with  the  Kettle 
Creekers  for  giving  you  the  boot,  eh?"  Jack  said. 

Cryder 's  eyes  dwelt  on  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 

"No,"  said  he.  "I  don't  believe  in  violation  of  law, 
that's  my  reason.  If  law  were  better  respected  both 
by  individuals  and  by  corporations  there  would  be  less 
crime  and  less  oppression  and  less  suffering.  Now  that 
you  know  what  to  expect,  I'll  go." 

"We'll  take  care  of  them,"  Jack  stated,  promptly. 
"Eight  o'clock.  I  doubt  if  they  come  before  midnight, 
but  we'll  be  ready  for  them  whenever  they  do  come." 

Wagner  had  stood  silent,  but  now  he  spoke. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Cryder." 


RISING  WIND  279 

The  surgeon  nodded  and  turned  to  depart,  then  be- 
thinking himself  again  faced  about. 

"If  you  consider  the  service  worth  anything,  there's 
something  you  might  do,"  said  he,  gazing  hard  at  the 
manager.  "I'm  not  trying  to  make  you  feel  that 
you're  under  an  obligation,  understand,  for  you're  not. 
None.  But  if  you  could  see  your  way  clear  to  call  off 
the  hunt  on  Nichols — 

An  angry  gesture  by  Huff  halted  his  speech  and 
brought  his  eyes  to  the  youth. 

"Not  on  your  life!"  the  latter  exclaimed,  vehemently, 
with  the  blood  rising  in  his  face. 

Cryder's  look  passed  from  him  to  his  sister,  who  was 
biting  her  lip,  gazing  downward,  and  on  to  Wagner. 
The  manager  was  winding  a  ringer  in  his  watch  chain. 
He  was  thinking.  A  faint  perplexity  like  a  shadow 
appeared  on  his  fleshy  tanned  countenance,  as  if  in  his 
mind  there  stirred  some  involvement  of  obscure  emo- 
tions. 

"If  you  had  come  a  day  earlier  with  your  news  I 
might  have  considered  it,"  he  stated,  finally,  with  great 
deliberateness. 

"Why  that?"  Cryder  demanded. 

"Well,  I  had  word  this  evening.  They  got  him  this 
afternoon  over  south  of  the  river." 

A  frown  settled  on  the  surgeon 's  brow. 

"Then  they're  bringing  him  in?"  he  queried. 

The  manager's  forefinger  that  was  winding  and 
unwinding  the  watch  chain  suddenly  ceased  its 
exercise. 

"They're  bringing  in  his  body,"  he  stated.     Then 


zSo  CRYDER 

he  looked  round.     "Jack,  get  your  gun  and  our  hats 
and  we'll  start  rounding  up  a  bunch  of  men." 

in 

Frances  had  caught  and  held  Cryder  by  the  sleeve 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  going.  It  had  occurred  to 
her  that  if  he  had  just  come  from  Kettle  Creek  he  could 
have  eaten  nothing.  A  question  on  the  point  confirmed 
this  fact.  Certainly  to  give  him  food  and  some  hot 
coffee  would  be  little  enough  return  for  his  disinterested 
act  in  apprizing  Wagner  and  Jack  of  danger  to  the  mill. 

"That's  right;  sit  down  and  eat,  Cryder,"  her  brother 
flung  out,  as  he  hurried  to  his  bed-chamber  for  his  re- 
volver. 

"I  can  get  a  bite  downtown,"  the  surgeon  replied. 

"If  you  don't  remain,  I  shall  feel  hurt,"  Frances  said. 

Already  she  had  suffered  a  wound  at  the  cavalier 
manner  in  which  Jack  had  treated  the  visitor  during  the 
brief  discussion,  which  Cryder  had  met  with  an  aston- 
ishingly even  temper.  Some  of  the  implications  in  her 
brother's  statements  were  obscure  to  her,  but  their 
nature  was  openly  discourteous  and  at  once  her  spirit 
leapt  to  make  amends  to  the  guest. 

The  surgeon  appeared  to  divine  something  of  her 
feeling.  He  nodded,  saying,  "If  you  really  wish,"  and 
stood  talking  with  Wagner  while  she  hastened  to  pre- 
pare a  place  for  him  at  the  table. 

When  the  manager  and  Jack  had  departed  he  sat 
down,  refusing  to  permit  her  to  go  to  the  kitchen  to  heat 
the  remaining  chops,  stating  that  they  would  satisfy  him 
as  they  were  and  declaring  that  the  coffee,  which  once 


RISING  WIND  281 

more  she  set  bubbling  in  the  percolator,  was  the  only 
hot  thing  he  wanted.  Watching  jealously  to  see  that 
his  plate  was  kept  well-filled,  she  meanwhile  carried  on  a 
desultory  conversation  with  him  about  the  prospective 
attack  on  the  Hedley  plant. 

Apprehensions,  slow  in  forming,  now  began  to  flock 
into  her  mind.  Vague  and  calamitous  issues  involving 
her  brother  seemed  unavoidable  and  raised  an  anxiety 
she  found  it  difficult  to  conceal. 

"Jack  will  be  in  danger,  won't  he?"  she  questioned, 
at  length. 

Cryder  was  spreading  butter  on  a  piece  of  bread. 

"I  think  not.  Not  now,"  said  he.  "Wagner  will 
have  guards  stationed  about  the  plant  and  when  the 
fellows  from  Kettle  Creek  discover  this,  they  will 
probably  abandon  their  attempt — for  to-night,  anyway. 
They  depend  on  secrecy  for  success.  Without  it  they 
can't  hope  to  do  much." 

He  was  eating  hungrily.  The  long  drive  had  given 
him  a  sharp  appetite  and  in  addition  he  had  satisfied 
himself  with  a  sandwich  at  noon.  Of  late  he  had 
been  forced  to  do  his  own  cooking  and  in  consequence 
had  done  no  more  than  necessary,  man-like,  as  Mrs. 
Mercer  had  gone  off  the  week  before — on  a  visit,  she 
had  announced  when  informing  him  of  her  prospective 
departure,  but,  as  he  suspected,  in  a  definite  with- 
drawal. For  some  days  previous  she  had  been  taciturn, 
disrespectful,  ill-disposed. 

"  Isn  't  it  possible  somehow  to  prevent  these  attacks  ? " 
Frances  asked. 

"One  can't  argue  with  madmen,"  said  he. 


282  CRYDER 

"Is  the  Kettle  Creek  company  in  such  straits?" 

"It's  as  good  as  ruined  now,"  said  he. 

"If  its  bonds  were  sold 

"They'll  not  be  sold.  Money's  too  tight.  And 
a  man  like  Pinney  couldn't  sell  anything." 

I  thought  until  this  evening  that  Mr.  Patterson  was 
handling  their  sale,"  she  remarked,  "and  I  was  sur- 
prised when  Jack  told  me  during  dinner  that  he  wasn't, 
that  he  had  resigned  his  place  with  the  association. 
Did  he  have  a  disagreement  with  you  and  the  rest  of  the 
directors?" 

Cryder  sipped  his  coffee.  Evidently  she  had  been 
kept  in  ignorance  of  what  had  transpired  in  the  affairs  of 
the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association,  though  there  had 
been  plenty  of  gossip  about  it  in  Maronville  business 
circles. 

"I'm  no  longer  a  director,"  he  stated,  finally.  "I'm 
out,  booted  through  the  door,  fired.  And  as  a  conse- 
quence I've  lost  my  standing  in  Kettle  Creek.  You'd 
hear  of  it  in  time,  so  I  may  as  well  mention  the  matter." 

"But  you  worked  so  hard  for  the  company!" 

He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  and  regarded  her  with 
a  look  partly  regretful,  partly  humorous.  But  all  at 
once  the  humour  died,  leaving  his  face  marked  by  deep 
lines.  She  saw  that  he  was  a  weary  man,  an  unhappy 
man,  in  whom  for  a  moment  a  spirit  of  indifference  and 
even  of  cynicism  appeared  uppermost. 

"I  am  an  outcast,"  he  said.  "Kettle  Creek  be- 
lieves that  I  betrayed  them  to  their  enemy.  A  few 
there  are  who  doubt  this,  but  so  few  they  number  no 
more  than  these  fingers" — he  held  up  a  hand — "and 


RISING  WIND  283 

in  the  storm  of  maledictions  hurled  at  me  they  wisely 
hold  their  peace.  Ridiculous,  you  say?  On  the  con- 
trary, it's  serious  in  its  effect,  not  so  much  on  me, 
though  this  is  bad  enough,  I  admit,  but  on  the  Kettle 
Creekers  themselves.  Hatred  is  bad  for  souls."  He 
brooded  for  a  moment  on  this  thought.  "It  devastates 
them.  That's  the  pity  of  this  struggle  for  property, 
for  wealth.  If  only  men  could  realize  that  it  breeds 
hate,  and  hate  poisons  and  corrodes  life.  I" — a  bitter 
note  crept  into  his  voice — "I  have  given  ten  years  and 
more  of  service  to  Kettle  Creek  and  to-day  I  can  cross 
no  threshold  there  except  my  own." 

A  surge  of  indignation  mounted  in  Frances. 

"Why  should  you  care?"  she  cried. 

"But  I  do  care,  yes,  I  do  care." 

"They're  ignorant  and  unworthy  of  your  regard 
if  they  so  basely  turn  against  you  after  all  you've  done 
for  them,"  she  declared.  "Any  one  who  knows  you 
should  be  aware  of  your  honesty." 

Between  his  strong  fingers  he  rolled  a  piece  of  bread 
into  a  pellet,  making  no  answer.  She  perceived  that 
his  thoughts  were  following  some  train  of  their  own; 
his  brows  twitched,  drew  together,  twitched  anew; 
she  felt  that  his  spirit  was  in  distress.  Once  he  had 
told  her  that  the  folk  of  the  forest,  the  dwellers  on 
Kettle  Creek,  were  his  people,  his  charge — and  now 
they  had  foresworn  him. 

He  laid  aside  the  pellet. 

"Well,  it's  time  for  me  to  be  moving,"  he  said,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone. 

"If  you've   nothing  taking  you,   why   not   remain 


284  CRYDER 

longer?"  she  replied.  "We'll  go  on  the  veranda  where 
it's  cooler.  It  would  please  me  to  have  you  stay 
and  talk — and  I  suspect  you've  been  much  alone 
lately." 

"As  alone  as  an  iceberg  at  sea." 

"Then  spend  the  evening  here." 

"Hanged  if  I  don't!"  he  exclaimed.  "I've  sickened 
of  my  own  company.  Even  old  Mrs.  Mercer  quit 
me,  and  the  hospital  is  as  cheerful  as  a  pest-house. 
Except  when  I  had  a  call  outside  the  valley  somewhere, 
I've  not  had  a  soul  to  talk  to;  and  you  know  me  well 
enough  to  understand  what  it  means  when  my  tongue 
can't  wag." 

Frances  led  him  forth  upon  the  veranda  and  made 
him  comfortable  in  a  cane  chair,  with  matches  and 
cigars  on  a  stand  at  his  elbow.  The  porch  light  she 
extinguished.  From  the  street  lamp  at  the  corner  a 
soft  radiance  fell  upon  the  lawn  and  walks  before  the 
house,  but  a  heavy  vine  trained  up  a  column  and  falling 
across  the  front  in  a  drapery  of  leaves  and  tendrils  gave 
a  dim  obscurity  to  the  place  where  they  sat.  Over  the 
roofs  of  the  bungalows  across  the  street  a  narrow  hori- 
zon of  stars  was  visible.  An  automobile  glare  illumi- 
nated the  gravel  roadway  in  the  street,  revealed  Cry- 
der's  car  at  rest  by  the  curb,  passed,  vanished.  A  dis- 
tant chatter  of  girlish  voices  suddenly  arose  somewhere 
and  then  died. 

The  surgeon  lighted  a  cigar  and  vigorously  puffed  it 
awhile. 

"How  does  the  library  work  go?"  he  asked. 

"Very  well.     Not  enough  of  it,  though.     I  wish  I 


RISING  WIND  285 

could  reach  out  beyond  the  corporate  limits.  I  had  a 
plan  for  extending  the  shelves  into  the  country  about, 
little  branches  in  towns,  among  them  one  in  the  store  at 
Kettle,  but  I  was  promptly  sat  on  by  the  board.  I 
discovered  people  don't  pay  taxes  for  the  benefit  of 
outsiders,  not  even  if  the  books  collect  dust." 

"You  probably  would  have  found  Kettle  folks  using 
the  volumes  to  set  the  coffee-pot  on  or  for  some  such 
purpose,"  he  remarked. 

"But  you  really  believe  a  library  would  benefit 
them,  don't  you?  Joking  aside." 

"Assuredly.  Your  idea  is  tiptop.  Never  thought 
of  it  myself,  or  I'd  have  tried  it  out,"  he  said.  "All 
the  books  I  had  there,  too!  Hundreds!  By  the  al- 
mighty, I  wish  you  had  put  it  into  my  head  before! 
And  now  it's  too  late,  unfortunately.  They  wouldn't 
touch  a  volume  if  they  knew  it  came  from  me.  But 
you're  on  the  right  track,  I'll  swear  to  that."  His 
voice  became  vibrant;  he  was  beginning  to  glow. 
"There's  only  one  cure  for  ignorance  and  that's  edu- 
cation, knowledge,  breadth  of  mind  through  the  incul- 
cation of  right  ideas.  Kettle  is  a  fine  example  of  a 
benighted  community — and  look  at  it!  Of  course,  all 
the  ignorance  isn't  confined  to  people  like  the  settlers 
up  there.  Not  by  a  long  shot.  In  the  so-called  'edu- 
cated classes'  there  is  plenty  of  it,  too,  and  among  the 
wealthy  men  of  our  country  who  misuse  their  op- 
portunity. Look  at  the  owners  of  southern  cotton 
mills  where  child-labour  is  employed,  look  at  them! 
If  I  told  them  they  were  ignorant,  they'd  be  insulted, 
but  that's  the  plain  fact  of  the  case.  When  greed  or 


286  CRYDER 

selfishness  gets  the  best  of  a  man,  then  he's  ignorant 
and  lacking  in  a  true  understanding  of  values  of  life. 
I  once  told  a  rich  man  that  and  he  became  as  mad  as  a 
hornet.  He  nearly  had  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  But 
it's  the  truth.  And  education  is  the  only  remedy,  not 
only  education  of  the  mind  but  of  the  heart.  When 
I  gaze  round  I  sometimes  think  the  task  is  infernally 
slow  if  not  hopeless,  but  nevertheless  I  know  that  a  gain 
is  being  made,  perhaps  only  in  infinitesimal  degrees  but 
being  made  just  the  same,  slowly,  surely,  a  little  each 
year,  a  step  each  generation,  each  century,  each  mil- 
lennium. We  of  to-day  are  fairer  and  kinder  than  our 
forebears  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  amazingly  more 
brotherly  to  fellow  beings  than  men  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
of  the  ancient  days.  From  slavish  and  sodden  crea- 
tures the  race  has  risen  to  be  human,  and  some  day,  in 
some  far  dawn,  it  may  mount  to  a  plane  of  unselfishness 
and  nobility.  I  can't  doubt  it.  Man's  history  points 
thither.  We're  not  a  race  staggering  forward  blindly 
and  futilely  without  a  purpose  or  without  a  destiny  from 
a  creation  to  an  extinction,  a  host  of  pitiful  bipeds  issuing 
from  one  pit  and  making  a  mournful  struggle  across 
lighted  space  to  vanish  in  another  abyss — oblivion. 
Never!" 

Cryder  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair,  emitted  a  deep 
breath,  and  thrust  his  cigar  between  his  teeth.  In  that 
exalted  declaration,  uttered  with  earnestness,  with 
fierce  conviction,  there  flamed  forth  the  unquenchable 
faith  of  the  man.  No  mistake  in  that.  Frances  sat 
rapt,  caught  up  in  the  spell  of  his  unconscious  eloquence. 
Thus  might  a  prophet  of  old  have  come  forth  from  his 


RISING  WIND  287 

mountain  and  spoken.  How  meaningless  and  empty, 
how  like  tinkling  brass,  sounded  the  vague,  smooth  pe- 
riods mouthed  by  Schuyler  Patterson  in  his  address  at 
the  opening  ceremony  of  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  As- 
sociation's  sawmill! 

A  long  silence  followed.     Both  were  thinking. 

"Will  you  stay  up  there?"  she  ventured,  at  last. 

"Yes."  He  puffed  a  cloud  of  smoke  which  drifted 
under  the  curtain  of  vine  into  the  thin  light  beyond. 
"Until  there  is  a  change,  at  any  rate." 

"That  may  happen?" 

"Very  soon.  The  Hedley  company  holds  the  as- 
sociation's notes  and  collateral  security  comprised  of 
deeds  given  by  the  settlers." 

Amazement  kept  the  girl  dumb  for  a  moment. 

"It  does!  Jack's  company!  I  never  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing,"  she  gasped.  "How  in  the  world  did 
it  get  them?" 

"Bought  them  of  the  bank,  I  suppose." 

"And  the  bank  never  told  the  Kettle  Creekers?" 

"There  was  no  obligation  on  its  part  to  do  so," 
he  replied.  "Except  a  moral  one,  perhaps,  as  the  two 
companies  are  competitors." 

"If  the  notes  aren't  paid,  then  Jack's  company  will 
have  the  Kettle  Creek  timber?  Is  that  it?" 

"Exactly.     After  certain  legal  formalities." 

"What  will  become  of  the  people  living  there?" 

"They  will  have  to  move." 

"That's  why  some  of  them  are  trying  to  blow  up  the 
plant  to-night?"  she  said,  quickly.  "I  don't  know  but 
that  I  should  feel  the  same  way  myself."  As  he  did  not 


288  CRYDER 

make  a  rejoinder,  she  continued:  "I  suppose  the  hunt 
for  Nick  has  had  something  to  do  with  it,  too.  Poor 
Nick!" 

"All  Kettle  Creek  is  very  bitter  over  that,"  he 
stated.  ''Well,  they  got  him,  Wagner's  gang.  It  will 
only  make  matters  worse." 

"I  never  thought  Nick  really  guilty." 

"He  wasn't  guilty  of  murder,  only  of  homicide  in 
self-defense,"  Cryder  exclaimed.  "Whoever  killed 
him  is  the  murderer,  no  matter  how  the  law  may  look  at 
it.  Well,  let  us  not  discuss  it.  I  can't  talk  calmly 
to-night  of  his  death." 

"I  myself  could  cry,"  said  Frances. 

In  her  mind  she  was  beholding  Nichols  as  he  had 
appeared  in  the  Hedley  office  on  the  day  he  gave  over 
driving  the  grub  wagon,  in  his  striped  silk  shirt  and 
gaudy  attire,  grinning,  proud,  complacent;  as  she  had 
seen  him  about  the  hospital,  where  he  ran  little  errands 
for  her  or  loitered  to  gossip;  as  he  went  to  and  fro 
driving  the  surgeon  on  his  round  of  calls.  Good- 
natured  Nick,  dead!  Almost  she  could  hear,  it  seemed, 
the  furious  screeching  of  saws  and  planes,  the  howling 
of  machinery  in  its  insatiable  hunger  for  logs.  Her 
heart  quivered.  The  vast  and  ruthless  thing  called 
industry  had  dragged  into  its  maw  another  human 
being,  another  life.  This  time,  Nick. 

By  an  effort  she  began  to  talk  of  other  matters. 
She  made  inquiry  as  to  whether  the  surgeon  had  lately 
seen  the  patients  who  had  occupied  beds  in  the  hospital 
ward  during  her  attendance  on  Jack,  the  rancher  whose 
foot  had  been  injured,  the  woman  Cryder  had  operated 


RISING  WIND  289 

for  goitre,  and  the  little  girl  whom  he  had  cured  of 
sleeping  sickness.  She  asked  if  he  had  performed  any 
important  operations  during  recent  weeks.  She  sought 
information  about  fishing  this  summer  in  Kettle  Creek? 
whether  trout  were  abundant  or  scarce,  and  as  to  his 
catches. 

"And,  oh,  do  you  remember  that  wonderful  fiery 
sunset  we  watched  on  the  ridge  that  evening  when  we 
reached  home  after  the  thunderstorm?  It  made  the 
forest  seem  on  fire/* 

"It  was  fine,"  said  he. 

He  could  speak  in  reply  only  briefly.  Poignant 
emotions  and  painful  memories  had  been  stirred  by  her 
recollections.  Crush  as  he  would  his  love  for  her,  it 
swelled  anew;  and  now  at  this  moment,  sitting  by  her 
side  in  the  dusk  of  the  veranda,  listening  to  her  voice, 
beholding  dimly  her  form,  he  felt  an  anguish  of  heart 
and  a  desolation  in  his  life  that  left  him  weak.  He 
dared  not  trust  his  tongue  greatly  at  the  instant. 
In  his  breast  the  thumping  blood  was  like  rapid 
hammers. 

She  continued  speaking  while  he  sat  gnawing  his 
cigar  or  puffing  at  it  in  a  kind  of  exasperated  fury.  He 
was  a  fool  for  having  stayed.  He  should  have  gone  the 
minute  he  delivered  his  message  to  Wagner.  This 
trial  was  getting  to  be  more  than  he  could  bear.  Would 
her  lips  never  cease  dwelling  on  those  days,  that 
wretched  time  last  summer? 

All  at  once  a  heavy  detonation  sounded  from  up  the 
river.  Instantly  Frances  became  dumb.  They  sat  trans- 
fixed, staring,  barkening.  A  second  dull  boom  followed. 


29o  CRYDER 

From  the  mountain  across  the  river  from  the  sawmill 
came  a  double  thunderclap. 

Frances's  hand  went  out  to  Cryder's  and  clutched 
it  in  fear. 

"Lucifer  reigns  to-night,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN 


ALL  Maronville  during  the  days  following  the  night 
attack  on  the  Hedley  plant  buzzed  with  excitement. 
That  the  damage  turned  out  to  be  small,  owing  to  the 
prompt  action  of  Wagner's  guards  in  repelling  the 
invaders,  in  no  degree  lessened  the  general  ebullition, 
the  gust  of  feeling,  and  the  sizzle  of  talk.  Kettle  Creek 
was  not  without  its  friends,  nor  the  Hedley  concern 
without  its  enemies.  Every  phase  of  the  antagonism 
between  the  rival  companies  was  discussed  and  argued : 
the  long  hatred  engendered  years  before,  the  refusal  of 
the  Hedley  company  to  buy  at  a  fair  price,  the  organ- 
ization of  the  settlers'  union,  the  building  of  the  new 
mill,  the  interference  and  fights  on  the  river  during 
the  log-drive,  the  sale  of  notes  and  collateral  by  the 
Citizens'  National  to  the  Heidenstreit  interests,  the 
alleged  double-dealing  of  Cryder  and  Patterson,  Pin- 
ney's  frantic,  futile  efforts  to  dispose  of  the  bonds. 
Spontaneously  a  knowledge  of  the  struggle  for  posses- 
sion of  the  tract  of  virgin  forest  somehow  was  general; 
and  two  bodies  of  opinion  developed — one  maintaining 
that  the  Hedley  company  was  in  no  wise  to  blame,  that 
throughout  it  had  lawfully  stood  on  its  rights,  that  the 

291 


292  CRYDER 

Kettle  Creek  association  failure  in  no  respect  could  be 
attributed  to  it,  that  it  was  a  Maronville  industry  em- 
ploying many  men  and  therefore  to  be  supported,  while 
the  cooperative  company  was  from  the  first  impractical, 
composed  of  men  of  no  means  or  credit  and  given  to 
lawlessness;  the  other  asserting  that  the  Kettle  Creekers 
had  been  constantly  pursued  and  harassed,  deceived 
and  tricked,  oppressed  and  brought  to  the  verge  of  ruin 
by  a  soulless  corporation  which  wanted  its  timber — 
one  more  instance  of  how  a  rich  and  powerful  con- 
cern openly  and  secretly  robbed  the  poor  to  satisfy  its 
greed. 

On  the  morning  following  the  attack  Pinney  had 
issued  a  statement  denying  the  association's  previous 
knowledge  of  or  responsibility  for  the  violence.  At  the 
Hedley  sawmill  an  exchange  of  shots  had  occurred 
before  the  plotters,  who  apparently  were  divided  into 
two  groups,  could  accomplish  their  design  of  blowing 
up  the  building.  In  the  mixed  fusillade  one  of  the  de- 
fenders had  been  wounded,  Tom  Williams,  the  cashier, 
who  received  a  bullet  in  the  calf  of  his  left  leg — from  the 
gun  of  one  of  his  companions,  malicious  gossips  declared. 
But  in  this  ineffectual  sortie  of  the  ruffians  one  man  had 
been  captured,  Jim  Myers,  called  Big  Jim;  the  fellow, 
it  was  remembered,  who  with  his  peavey  had  hooked 
Jack  Huff  out  of  the  stream  at  the  time  of  the  river  acci- 
dent the  previous  year.  He  now  was  held  in  a  cell  in 
the  jail  behind  the  court  house. 

The  second  group  of  conspirators  acting  simultane- 
ously was  more  successful,  being  undetected.  It  had 
set  off  two  blasts  of  dynamite  against  the  piling  of  the 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  293 

log  boom  and  blown  out  a  section,  releasing  a  quantity 
of  logs  which  floated  down  the  river.  Men  now  were 
at  work  retrieving  these,  dragging  them  from  the  water 
upon  the  bank  to  be  hauled  back  later  to  the  mill.  The 
explosion  of  the  two  charges  at  the  boom  were  the 
detonations  heard  over  the  town. 

Pinney  throughout  the  week  made  statements,  each 
more  verbose  and  more  nervous,  explicitly  assuring  the 
public  of  the  association's  innocence  and  deprecating 
the  outrage.  Unfortunately  Big  Jim  owned  a  claim  and 
was  a  stockholder  in  the  company.  The  Hedley  com- 
pany instituted  suit  against  the  manager  and  his  fellow- 
directors  for  heavy  damages. 

Wagner  had  no  statement  to  make. 

Big  Jim  sat  in  his  cell,  chewed  tobacco,  and  to  the 
county  attorney's  interrogations  answered  steadfastly 
that  he  had  done  the  job  alone.  Nobody  had  helped 
him.  No,  he  wasn't  an  I.  W.  W.  No,  other  Kettle 
Creekers  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  And  it  made  no 
difference  where  he  got  the  dynamite. 

Williams  lay  in  a  room  in  Martin's  hospital,  re- 
ceiving flowers,  talking  languidly  with  visitors,  and  ex- 
plaining that  he  wasn't  in  the  least  a  hero.  The 
wound  in  his  calf  was  painful  but  healing  nicely.  He 
would  soon  be  about.  It  would  have  been  romantic 
if  he  had  been  shot  in  the  arm  and  could  go  round  with 
it  in  a  sling,  pale  and  interesting,  but  things  always 
happened  to  him  in  a  manner  baldly  prosaic.  He  even 
confessed  that  he  didn't  know  who  had  shot  him, 
friend  or  enemy.  It  was  dark.  Bullets  were  flying. 
He  was  trying  to  crawl  under  a  lumber-pile  when  hit. 


294  CRYDER 

Absolute  truth.  He  was  scared  to  death.  No  need 
for  them  to  attempt  to  make  him  out  in  a  different 
light. 

One  afternoon  Frances  Huff  stopped  in  after  closing 
hour  at  the  library  to  make  inquiry  of  his  condition  and 
to  leave  some  novels,  for  which  he  had  asked. 

"With  all  the  solicitous  friends  who  visit  you  I 
doubt  that  you  will  find  time  to  read  a  single  one,  but  I 
brought  four,"  she  stated. 

"Never  fear,  I'll  discover  time  to  devour  them," 
he  responded.  "Friends  are  beginning  to  drop  away 
from  me.  The  gilt  of  heroism  is  wearing  off — and,  be- 
sides, I've  a  competitor.  Mrs.  Pinney  has  sent  flowers 
to  Big  Jim,  I  understand,  and  I  expect  interest  to 
swing  in  his  direction.  Have  you  seen  the  Spokane 
papers?" 

"No.     Did  they  write  up  the  affair?" 

"Elaborately.  Reporters  have  been  here  in  town 
all  week.  Didn't  you  know?  Somewhere  they  dug 
up  a  photograph  of  me  and  they  snapped  a  picture  of 
Big  Jim,  and  in  one  journal  the  two  pictures  appeared 
side  by  side  over  the  caption,  'Two  of  the  Maronville 
Dynamiters.'  The  reporter  of  the  paper  made  apolo- 
gies to  me  this  morning,  but  I'm  ruined.  Every  wag 
in  town  will  be  uttering  the  joke  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 
He  sighed. 

Frances  was  unable  to  decide  whether  he  was  only 
amused  or  really  distressed. 

"You  could  have  the  newsoaper  publish  a  correc- 
tion," she  suggested. 

"The  damage  is  done,  I  fear,"  said  he.     "Well,  of 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  295 

course,  I  can  sue  the  owners.  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke 
my  pipe  ?  By  the  way,  you  heard  of  young  Nichols 's 
fate,  I  suppose.  Sad  thing." 

"Tragic,"  Frances  exclaimed. 

"Well,  I  trust  there  will  soon  be  an  end  to  the  trouble 
that  has  so  long  centred  in  the  Kettle  Creek  timber 
dispute.  By  this  time  you  naturally  know  that  our 
company  holds  the  association's  obligations,  which  are 
due  in  a  short  period,  some  ten  days.  If  you  don't 
know  it,  you're  the  only  person.  And  as  the  associa- 
tion will  be  practically  bankrupt  when  they  fall  due,  we 
shall  forfeit  the  security  in  payment  of  them.  A  some- 
what severe  measure,  it  seems,  but  that  is  the  way 
business  is  done.  And  in  the  long  run  it  will  be  bene- 
ficial, bringing  that  fine  body  of  timber  into  position  for 
conversion  into  lumber." 

"The  Kettle  Creek  company  was  logging  and  sawing 
it,"  she  returned.  "I  see  no  gain  in  our  company 
getting  it,  as  far  as  the  public  is  concerned." 

A  slight  smile  moved  Williams's  lips. 

"We  can  take  it  out  in  a  tenth  of  the  time  that 
the  settlers  could,  assuming  their  company  had  con- 
tinued to  operate." 

Frances  still  was  unconvinced. 

"Would  that  be  a  gain?  I  don't  think  so.  Doctor 
Cryder  told  me  early  in  the  summer  that  the  association 
expected  to  log  only  the  largest  trees,  year  by  year,  in 
order  to  perpetuate  the  forest  instead  of  destroying  it 
and  leaving  the  region  a  waste  of  stumps." 

Williams,  with  a  faintly  cynical  expression,  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling. 


296  CRYDER 

"That  isn't  practical  lumbering,"  he  remarked. 
"After  timber  is  cut,  it  will  grow  up  again  in  time. 
Cryder's  a  good  deal  of  a  radical  in  his  ideas,  a  theorist. 
It's  to  be  guessed,  isn't  it,  that  lumbermen  know  more 
about  the  business  than  any  one  else?  As  a  surgeon, 
Cryder's  very  good — he  took  the  bullet  out  of  my  leg 
the  night  I  was  shot,  when  Martin  got  hold  of  him  and 
brought  him  here;  but  as  an  expert  on  lumbering,  I 
accept  his  notions  with  considerable  reserve." 

"I  can't  see  what's  wrong  with  logging  a  forest  so 
as  to  preserve  it,"  she  persisted. 

"But  it's  impractical." 

"Why?" 

"For  one  thing,  it  would  be  more  expensive." 

"Would  it  be  in  the  long  run?  A  forest  isn't  like 
a  mine,  its  precious  contents  to  be  extracted  and  the 
ground  abandoned,  though  that's  the  way  lumber- 
men view  it.  It's  a  growing  thing.  I  don't  see  why 
it  shouldn't  be  kept  alive  to  give  an  annual  yield,  like  an 
orchard.  Men  don't  destroy  an  orchard  to  get  the 
crop." 

"Cryder  must  have  converted  you,"  he  stated, 
laughing. 

"He  did.  And  I've  yet  to  hear  a  sound  argument, 
aside  from  one  about  quick  returns,  that  refutes  or 
disproves  the  wisdom  of  the  plan.  No  need  to  tell  me 
opinion  is  against  me;  I  know  it.  Jack  and  Mr.  Patter- 
son and  most  men  take  your  position,  but  that  only 
shows  they  can't  break  away  from  tradition  and  a 
penny-in-the-hand  policy.  Alone,  of  all  I've  talked 
with,  Doctor  Cryder  looks  into  the  future." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  297 

Williams  a  second  time  lighted  his  pipe,  which  had 
gone  out.  After  a  puff  he  shook  his  head. 

"Poor  Doc!  He's  in  bad  all  around,"  said  he, 
reflectively.  "I'd  like  to  know  who  started  the  canard 
about  his  having  sold  out  the  Kettle  Creekers  to  us. 
Anyone  with  a  thimbleful  of  brains  would  know  that  it 
was  a  falsehood." 

"Was  that  the  reason  the  Kettle  folk  turned  against 
him  and  now  are  so  bitter?"  she  demanded. 

His  brows  lifted  in  surprise. 

"Hadn't  you  heard?  It  was  because  of  the  failure 
of  the  sale  of  the  bonds.  He  maintained  that  Patter- 
son was  doing  his  best  to  sell  them,  you  see,  but  here 
a  month  or  so  ago  that  story  started  of  their  being  paid 
by  Wagner  to  prevent  the  sale  and  of  Patterson  being  in 
our  employ — he  is  retained  by  us,  you  know — and  the 
Kettle  Creekers  believed  it  and  broke  with  both  men. 
I'm  astonished  you  hadn't  heard  of  it.  No  one  pays 
any  attention  to  the  wretched  lie.  Too  ridiculous. 
Men  of  their  position  and  character  don't  do  things  like 
that,  naturally.  I  wonder  if  I've  been  indiscreet  in 
speaking  of  the  matter,  since  Mr.  Patterson  has  made 
no  mention  of  it  to  you?" 

"Why  shouldn't  you  speak  of  it?  He  probably 
thought  it  too  trivial,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned." 

"It  hasn't  bothered  him,  for  a  fact,"  Williams 
agreed.  "I  can  safely  say  it  hasn't  affected  his  repu- 
tation one  particle — and  he's  probably  pleased  to  be 
freed  from  his  connection  with  the  Kettle  Creekers. 
They  must  have  been  very  distasteful  to  one  of  his 
discriminating  nature  and  polished  manners.  It  was 


298  CRYDER 

different  in  his  case  from  that  of  Cryder's;  Doc  is 
something  of  a  Kettle  Creeker  himself.  He  could 
endure  those  people  without  wincing.  But  by  all 
reports  he's  certainly  been  made  their  goat.  They 
have  it  in  for  him  in  every  possible  way.  They  openly 
curse  him  now,  I  hear.  The  women  spit  at  him,  it's 
said.  The  kids  throw  stones  at  him.  And,  it's  told 
me,  he  never  replies  or  lifts  a  hand.  Probably  that's 
gossip,  however,  as  I  can't  imagine  Doc  playing  dead 
in  a  row.  Must  you  go?" 

Frances  had  risen  from  her  seat. 

"It's  close  to  six,"  said  she.  "I've  a  hungry  man 
coming  home  from  the  sawmill." 

Her  desire  now  was  to  escape  from  his  chatter  and  be 
alone  with  her  feelings.  In  imagination  she  could  see 
the  surgeon  walking  in  silence  from  the  cursing  ruffians 
and  screeching  harridans  at  Kettle,  with  the  stones 
hurled  by  childish  hands  falling  about  him,  walking 
from  them  into  the  solitude  of  the  forest.  Yet  he 
stayed  there,  waiting.  He  had  told  her  why. 

A  time  might  rise  when  they  should  need  him. 

ii 

The  September  sunshine  lay  on  the  idle  millyard 
of  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association,  flooding  the 
stacks  of  new  lumber,  the  engine-house  from  whose  tall 
black  pipe  no  smoke  gushed  forth,  the  long  building 
holding  the  machinery  and  the  fenced  ground.  Work 
had  been  stopped  by  the  directors  "for  the  present." 
The  final  hours  in  which  the  disaster  threatening  the 
company  might  be  averted  were  ebbing.  In  a  last 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  299 

desperate  effort  to  sell  the  bonds  and  raise  money  to 
save  forfeiture  of  the  deeds  Pinney,  Arnold  Meek,  and 
Dave  Hollister  had  gone  to  Seattle  to  make  a  round  of 
the  bond  houses,  to  appeal  to  the  banks,  to  perform  a 
miracle  at  a  moment  when  financial  miracles  were  being 
sought  by  a  host  of  hard-pressed  business  concerns. 

By  a  lumber-pile  two  men  were  loading  two-by-fours 
on  a  wagon,  one  the  yard  man  and  the  other  a  rancher 
who  had  outwitted  the  local  lumber  dealers  by  buying 
at  the  sawmill.  Each  plank  was  let  drop  on  the  load 
with  a  dull  clap.  The  horses  stood  with  lowered 
heads,  one  with  tongue  protruding  from  a  corner  of  his 
mouth  by  the  steel  bit,  switching  their  tails,  occasionally 
twitching  ears  or  a  flank  to  be  rid  of  flies. 

As  they  talked  a  short,  corpulent  man  came  in  view 
and  moved  toward  them  in  the  narrow  street  between 
the  rows  of  lumber  stacks,  casting  appraising  glances 
upward  or  about.  His  gray  Stetson  hat  was  down- 
drawn  against  the  sun's  rays,  his  unbuttoned  vest 
swung  a  little  at  each  step.  Reaching  the  wagon,  he 
gave  the  men  a  nod  and  went  on. 

"That's  Wagner,  the  manager  of  the  other  mill,  and 
he's  looking  his  loot  over,"  said  the  yard  man,  when 
Wagner  had  passed  beyond  hearing. 

"How's  that?"  asked  the  rancher. 

"The  other  sawmill  bought  the  notes  the  Kettle 
Creek  association  gave  the  bank,"  was  the  explanation, 
"and  the  notes  fall  due  to-morrow.  The  association 
had  to  give  security  along  with  their  notes." 

"They'd  have  to,  of  course.  If  a  man  borrows  any- 
thing at  a  bank,  it  takes  a  mortgage  on  everything  he's 


300  CRYDER 

got  includin'  his  shirt  and  his  soul.  Don't  I  know? 
Didn't  the  First  National  make  me  sell  my  cattle  a 
while  ago  when  the  market  was  way  off  in  order  to  pay 
a  note  of  mine  they  held?  Made  me  take  a  big  loss. 
Seems  like  they  always  want  their  money  when  we 
farmers  and  ranchers  are  in  a  corner.  Looks  to  me  like 
the  banks  and  the  packing  companies  and  grain  dealers 
are  all  workin'  together  to  skin  the  people.  What  was 
it  you  was  sayin'  about  him  lookin'  over  his  loot  ? " 

The  yard  man,  not  loath  to  enjoy  a  moment's  rest, 
stepped  into  the  shade  of  the  lumber-pile  and  lighted  a 
cigarette. 

"The  bank  made  this  Kettle  Creek  mill  put  up  a 
mortgage,  you  see,"  he  stated.  "Covers  the  whole 
plant  including  the  lumber  not  sold.  Then  the  com- 
pany had  to  put  up  deeds  on  all  the  timber  it  owns. 
Well,  the  notes  are  due  to-morrow  and  the  company 
can't  pay.  So  it  loses.  To-morrow  bright  and  early 
Wagner  will  start  foreclosure  proceedings  on  the  mill, 
which  to  be  sure  leaves  the  association  till  next  spring 
to  pay,  but  it  never  can  and  might  as  well  lose  it  at 
once.  Shucks,  it  can't  do  nothing  with  its  timber  gone, 
for  them  deeds  will  be  grabbed  first  shot  and  put  on 
record.  The  other  mill  don't  care  about  this  one  spe- 
cial, though  it  will  clean  it  up  with  the  rest;  it's  the  tim- 
ber on  Kettle  Creek  it's  been  after — as  fine  a  body  of 
timber  as  lays  outdoors." 

"Didn't  you  sell  enough  lumber  to  get  the  money 
to  pay  the  notes?"  the  other  inquired,  thoughtfully. 

"Sell,  nothing.  We  sold  a  carload  now  and  then,  but 
what's  that  in  a  business  like  this?  Between  vou  and 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  301 

me  this  Pinney  running  the  mill  isn't  no  business  man. 
He  ain't  been  here  any  of  the  time  lately,  to  speak  of. 
Leaves  his  wife  to  run  the  office  while  he  goes  flying 
round  the  country  spending  money,  and  you  know 
what  a  woman  is  like  as  a  boss.  Comes  out  here  and 
tries  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  and  me  worked  in  yards 
all  over  the  country.  Well,  this  is  my  last  day." 

"Quittin'?" 

"Out  of  a  job  to-morrow.  Have  to  look  round  for 
another.  Maybe  I  can  get  one  up  at  the  other  mill, 
though  it  ain't  paying  what  it  ought  to.  Only  five 
a  day.  Now  when  I  was  working  in  the  shipyard  dur- 
ing the  war,  we  got  some  real  wages,  and 

Wagner  had  turned  down  a  crossway  running  at 
right  angles  to  the  one  in  which  the  two  men  talked, 
and,  emerging  from  the  area  of  lumber,  advanced 
toward  the  sawmill.  It  was  still,  lifeless,  no  sawdust 
belching  from  its  blower  upon  the  great  pile  close  by 
and  no  roar  of  saws  filling  the  air  with  discordant  sound. 
Advancing  at  a  deliberate  pace,  he  saw  no  one.  It  was 
like  a  deserted  building. 

He  entered  and  looked  about  at  the  interior,  then 
proceeded  to  an  inspection  of  the  building — the  car- 
riers, saws,  planes,  belting — with  an  eye  to  its  arrange- 
ment and  its  capacity.  Should  a  betterment  of  mar- 
ket conditions  warrant,  it  was  his  idea  to  recommend 
to  the  Heidenstreit  office  in  Spokane  rather  than  to 
junk  and  sell  the  machinery  to  operate  the  small  plant 
in  connection  with  the  larger  mill,  as  certain  rough  sizes 
of  lumber  could  be  manufactured  here  as  economically 
as  at  the  larger  plant,  thereby  increasing  the  output. 


302  CRYDER 

The  machinery,  while  not  new,  was  still  in  good  con- 
dition. With  certain  changes  in  position  it  could  be 
improved.  He  began  to  consider  these,  to  rearrange  in 
his  mind  the  location  of  the  steel  frames  of  the  saws,  the 
tracks  of  the  carriers,  and  the  overhead  machinery.  He 
examined  the  log  chute.  Finally,  he  went  from  the  build- 
ing to  the  engine-house,  but  the  door  of  this  was  closed, 
and  trying  its  knob  he  found  the  door  locked  as  well. 

After  moving  to  the  river  bank,  where  he  considered 
for  a  time  the  boom  and  estimated  the  number  of  logs 
it  contained,  he  turned  about  and  tramped  toward  the 
small  office  building  in  front  of  the  sawmill.  He  went 
without  haste,  in  his  accustomed  slow,  firm  gait,  a 
finger  twisting  his  watch  chain  and  the  sunshine  glinting 
on  his  brownish-gray  beard.  This  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  set  foot  inside  the  association's  fenced  en- 
closure, but  if  he  felt  any  interest  beyond  that  of 
the  necessities  of  his  visit  it  was  not  evident  from  his 
manner.  He  had  come  to  make  a  cursory  inventory, 
nothing  more. 

At  the  door  of  the  office  he  paused,  looking  within. 
Myra  Pinney  sat  at  a  roll-top  desk,  her  round  back 
straining  a  crimson  waist,  her  cheek  pumping  method- 
ically to  the  chewing  of  gum.  As  he  watched  she  took 
this  out  of  her  mouth,  gazed  at  it,  stuck  it  on  the  edge  of 
the  desk  and  drawing  a  box  of  candy  toward  her,  lifted 
its  cover,  picked  forth  a  large  chocolate,  inserted  it  in  her 
mouth  and  again  bent  over  a  ledger,  which  she  appeared 
to  study  without  understanding. 

He  stepped  over  the  threshold  into  the  room.  At 
the  sound  of  his  boot  on  the  floor  Myra  turned  her  head 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  303 

and  because  her  mouth  was  full  of  the  sweet  succeeded 
in  making  only  an  inarticulate  gurgle  of  greeting.  She 
gazed  fixedly  at  him  while  hastily  endeavouring  to 
swallow  the  chocolate. 

Of  Wagner  she  had  heard  much.  In  her  mind  he 
had  assumed  something  of  the  character  of  a  diabolical 
despot,  infinitely  mercenary  and  cruel,  heartless, 
bloodthirsty,  a  protagonist  in  evil,  the  arch-persecutor 
of  Kettle  Creek  folk,  and  the  instigator  of  her  brother's 
murder.  The  shock,  the  horror  of  Nick's  killing  in 
the  hills  not  far  away  and  of  the  bringing  to  Maronville 
of  his  lifeless,  bullet-riddled  body  and  of  its  mournful 
conveyance  to  Kettle  Creek  for  burial,  at  moments 
still  affected  her  thoughts  and  set  a  sickish  palpitation 
astir  in  her  breast.  She  had  seen  Wagner  the  night  of 
his  meeting  with  the  settlers  at  Kettle  a  year  before; 
she  had  glimpsed  him  once  or  twice  since;  but  devoted 
as  he  was  to  his  work,  disinclined  as  he  was  to  make  him- 
self conspicuous  and  remaining  closely  at  his  lodging- 
place  when  not  at  the  Hedley  plant,  it  was  not  strange 
that  she  now  failed  to  recognize  in  him  the  villain  she 
imagined. 

She  saw  a  short,  fleshy,  bearded  man,  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  familiarity  in  his  face  and  figure,  in  a  pocket 
of  whose  vest  were  stuck  several  yellow  lead  pencils  and 
a  folding  rule.  She  decided  he  must  be  a  carpenter  or  a 
contractor  who  had  come  hither  with  a  purpose  of 
obtaining  prices  on  lumber.  In  manner  he  was  un- 
ostentatious and  in  appearance  commonplace.  Proba- 
bly a  building  contractor. 

Gulping  the  last  of  her  confection,  she  rose  heavily 


304  CRYDER 

and  walking  to  a  clay  jar  resting  on  a  box  by  a  window, 
lifted  its  lid,  dipped  with  a  tin  cup  some  water  from  the 
receptacle,  drank,  rinsed  her  mouth,  replaced  the  lid 
upon  the  jar  and  the  tin  cup  upon  a  nail,  wiped  her 
hands  upon  a  roller  towel  on  the  wall  and  turned  about 
ready  for  business  She  had  been  utilizing  her  stay 
in  the  office,  which  she  had  eagerly  undertaken  to 
manage  during  Pinney's  absence,  in  peering  into  the 
ledger  in  an  effort  to  learn  the  details  of  the  association's 
difficulties.  It  had  occurred  to  her  that  once  she  knew 
them  a  brilliant  idea  for  saving  the  company  from  ruin 
might  result.  In  her  estimation  this  was  not  so  im- 
possible; people  had  not  credited  her  with  the  brains 
she  knew  she  possessed;  she  was  brighter  than  the 
women  she  had  met  or  seen  in  Maronville,  anyway  as 
bright.  But  after  turning  the  leaves  of  the  big  book 
for  half  an  hour  and  staring  at  incomprehensible  entries 
and  figures  she  had  been  unable  to  make  head  or  tail  of 
the  sawmill's  affairs. 

However,  she  could  sell  lumber,  at  any  rate.  Pinney 
had  left  her  a  list  of  prices  for  the  various  dimensions 
and  sizes  of  the  yard  stock  in  case  purchasers  should 
appear.  She  already  had  made  two  sales  after  con- 
sulting the  yard  man:  one  to  a  fellow  who  wanted 
some  planking  for  irrigation  headgates  and  one  this 
morning  to  the  rancher  now  loading  his  wagon. 

"Good  morning,  did  you  want  to  buy  some  lumber?" 
she  questioned,  using  both  hands  as  she  spoke  to  adjust 
her  crimson  waist. 

A  glimmer  of  amusement  passed  over  Wagner's  face. 

"I  didn't  come  for  that,"  he  remarked. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  305 

"Maybe  to  get  prices  on  some  stock?"  said  she. 

"I've  been  out  looking  your  stock  over,"  he  replied. 
"You're  Mrs.  Pinney?" 

"Yes,  I'm  Mrs.  Pinney,"  was  the  complacent  re- 
sponse. "  Pinney 's  away  in  Seattle  on  business  to-day 
and  I 'm  running  the  office.  We've  got  the  best  lumber 
there  is  if  you  want  any.  Better 'n  the  Hedley's  lum- 
ber, all  clear  grain.  No  knots  at  all." 

"None  at  all,  madam?     That's  remarkable." 

"Well,  not  enough  to  notice,  anyway,"  said  she. 
"Pinney  declares  it's  the  best  lumber  sawed  in  this 
part  of  the  country  and  he  knows." 

"And  he 'sin  Seattle?" 

"Yes.  On  a  big  business  deal.  He's  gone  to  sell 
some  bonds.  I'm  expecting  to  hear  any  moment  he's 
sold  'em,  for  he's  goin'  to  telegraph  me  if — when 
they're  sold,  so  my  mind  will  be  easy." 

"Then  your  mind  isn't  easy?"  queried  the  visitor. 

Myra  decided  to  make  no  reply.  The  conversation 
had  passed  a  little  further  than  she  had  intended.  Her 
mind,  to  be  sure,  wasn't  easy;  indeed,  of  late  it  had  had 
periods  of  distressing  anxiety  and  depression  at  the 
prospect  of  the  company's  failure  and  loss  and  at 
thought  of  the  future.  To  be  cast  into  penury  once 
more  was  almost  terrifying.  And  then,  too,  just  about 
this  time  she  had  discovered  she  was  pregnant.  The 
thought  of  suffering  financial  disaster  when  soon  she 
should  bear  a  child  filled  her  with  dismay,  almost  with 
despair.  At  night  she  sometimes  awoke  and  lay  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  and  beset  by  formless  fears  until 
her  flesh  quivered  all  over.  One  thing,  she  should  never 


306  CRYDER 

live  as  she  had  before  her  marriage,  no  matter  what 
happened.  Never.  Pinney  simply  had  to  do  some- 
thing to  avert  the  impending  catastrophe  and  to  save 
the  company  and  become  wealthy  as  he  had  promised. 
God  ought  to  help,  too.  If  she  prayed,  maybe  He  would. 
Kettle  Creek  folks  hadn't  paid  much  attention  to  God 
or  done  any  praying  and  perhaps  that  was  one  reason 
they  had  had  so  many  troubles.  She  had  decided  she 
would  begin  praying  right  away.  She  had  done  so  on 
her  knees,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  the  dark, 
stammering  worried  and  incoherent  appeals  to  the 
neglected  Divinity  to  make  someone  buy  the  bonds, 
to  help  the  Kettle  Creekers  and  keep  her  and  Pinney 
from  being  poor — and  their  child  not  yet  born.  Then 
she  had  climbed  into  bed.  She  would  wait  and  see  now 
if  it  worked.  .  .  . 

"Did  you  say  you  wanted  to  get  some  prices  on 
stock?"  she  reiterated  to  the  visitor. 

"No,  not  this  morning,"  said  he. 

"I'd  like  to  sell  you  some  lumber." 

"That  would  be  like  taking  coals  to  Newcastle," 
he  returned.  Perceiving  an  uncomprehending  light 
in  her  eyes,  he  continued,  "I'm  in  the  business  of  mak- 
ing lumber,  too." 

"Then  why  are  you  coming  here?" 

"I  want  a  look  at  the  plant.  If  we  take  it  over,  as 
likely,  I  need  to  know  what's  here." 

A  suspicion,  a  fear,  clutched  at  Myra's  heart. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  demanded,  staring. 

"Wagner's  my  name,  Mrs.  Pinney,"  he  stated  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone.  "I  expected  to  find  Mr.  Pinney 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  307 

in  the  office  and  to  go  over  things  with  him.  But  as 
he's  away— 

"Say,  you've  got  your  nerve  coming  here!"  she  cried, 
a  wave  of  scarlet  dyeing  her  plump  neck  and  cheeks. 

"I've  a  perfect  right  to  come,  madam." 

"Not  if  I  know  it.  This  mill  ain't  yours  yet,  nor 
our  timber,  either,  and  won't  be,  I'm  telling  you. 
We're  going  to  sell  those  bonds  yet." 

"The  time  is  short,"  said  he. 

"We'll  do  it  just  the  same — and  you  get  out  of  this 
office  and  out  of  the  yard!"  she  went  on,  fiercely.  "If 
there  were  men  here  they  would  run  you  out  quick 
enough.  You  just  came  to  be  insolent." 

"I  came  to  examine  the  mill,"  he  interrupted, 
calmly. 

But  in  the  sudden  anger  that  overpowered  her  Myra 
was  not  to  be  deflected  from  utterance  of  the  long- 
collected  bitterness  in  her  heart. 

"You  look  on  our  mill  and  our  land  just  as  if  it  was 
your  own  already,"  she  exclaimed.  "You  came  to 
gloat  over  me  and  Pinney.  It  isn't  enough  that  you 
made  Kettle  Creek  trouble  from  the  very  start,  but  you 
want  to  see  us  suffer  as  well.  If  I  had  a  gun,  I'd  shoot 
you  right  now.  You  and  your  company  have  always 
wanted  to  get  our  timber  away  from  us  and  tried  every 
way  to  make  us  sell  for  nothing,  and  ever  since  we 
started  our  'sociation  you've  fought  us  and  tried  to  rob 
us.  You  got  your  log-drivers  to  quarrel  with  us  all  the 
way  down  the  river.  You  took  our  logs.  You  bribed 
that  slick  rascal  Patterson  and  along  with  him  Doc 
Cryder.  You  sent  men  to  hunt  my  brother  Nick  and 


3o8  CRYDER 

never  let  him  rest  and  kept  him  hiding  in  rags  and  half 
starved  till  at  last  you  caught  and  killed  him.  Yes, 
you  killed  him,  just  as  much  as  if  you'd  shot  him  your- 
self. And  they  never  touched  you  for  it.  You  go 
free.  You've  got  money  and  influence  behind  you,  so 
you  don't  hang.  But  you're  nothing  but  a  murderer. 
My  brother's  blood  is  on  your  hands.  I  hope  to  God 
when  you  die  you  burn  forever  for  what  you've  done. 
I  hope  while  you're  yet  living  that  you  suffer  as  no  man 
ever  suffered  before — and  I  watch  you !  I  hope  you  rot 
while  you're  still  breathing  and  lie  flat  in  agony  for 
years.  I  hope  all  the  wickedness  in  your  life  comes 
back  to  torture  you.  I'd  almost  die  myself  to  see  you 
tasting  hell." 

Myra  had  exhausted  her  breath  and  stood  panting 
from  her  burst  of  fury. 

"I  judge  that  you  dislike  me,"  said  Wagner. 

The  young  woman's  lips  quivered,  then  the  tears 
began  to  roll  from  her  eyes.  Against  such  a  man  of 
stone,  against  such  a  monster  of  calm,  who  under  her 
fiercest  invective  remained  unaffected,  she  felt  a  sudden 
hopelessness  of  achieving  anything.  Her  rage  had  left 
him  untouched,  as  all  the  desperate  struggles  of  the 
Kettle  Creekers  to  escape  his  outreaching  hand  had 
left  him  undefeated.  Nothing  could  beat  him,  nothing 
harm  him.  Once  during  the  summer  he  had  been  shot 
at  by  someone  in  ambush,  ineffectually,  by  whom  she 
never  knew  nor  wanted  to  know.  A  sinister  power 
seemed  in  her  eyes  now  to  shield  and  favour  him.  When 
he  chose  fully  to  exert  his  malevolence,  as  he  had  done 
with  her  brother,  it  was  dreadful.  His  short  heavy 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  309 

figure  was  a  very  embodiment  of  concentrated  and  de- 
liberate power,  to  her  ignorant  imagination  terrifying. 

"It  will  do  you  good  to  cry,"  said  he. 

"I'm  beginning  to  feel  sick,"  she  quavered. 

"Perhaps  you  overload  your  stomach  with  candy,"  he 
remarked,  glancing  at  the  box  of  chocolates  on  the  desk. 

She  sniffled,  shook  her  head,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"It's— it's  the  baby." 

"Have  you  a  baby?" 

"It's  not  come  yet;  it  ain't  born,"  Myra  gulped, 
recurrent  sobs  still  at  intervals  rising  in  her  throat. 

Wagner  twisted  his  watch  chain  for  a  time. 

"Babies  do  come,"  said  he,  at  length.  "You're 
a  strong  and  healthy  young  woman;  I  imagine  it'll  be  a 
strong  and  healthy  baby." 

"I — I  hope  so,"  she  said,  thickly. 

"The  main  things  with  babies,  I  understand,  is  to 
give  them  pure  milk." 

This  was  the  extent  of  his  knowledge  on  the  subject 
and  he  took  advantage  of  her  silence  to  cast  his  look 
about  the  office,  at  the  furniture,  the  safe,  the  walls  and 
windows,  estimating  the  value  of  the  contents  and  the 
size  of  the  building.  Then  he  drew  out  his  watch. 
Eleven  o'clock.  He  could  spare  no  more  time. 

Myra  was  powdering  her  eyes  and  nose,  he  saw. 

"The  child  will  be  healthy,  I'm  sure,"  said  he,  and 
went  out. 

in 

At  noon  on  this  same  day,  as  Frances  Huff  was  about 
to  leave  the  library  to  go  home  for  lunch,  Doctor  Cryder 


3io  CRYDER 

walked  into  the  building.  He  came  to  inquire  if  the 
library  could  make  use  of  the  surplus  books  stacked  in 
his  hospital  study  if  he  sent  them  down,  or,  better  still, 
if  Frances  could  employ  the  volumes  in  carrying  out 
her  extension  plan  in  the  towns  up  the  river.  He  should 
have  to  do  something  with  the  books.  In  addition  to 
contributing  the  latter,  he  would  pay  the  small  expense 
connected  with  operating  the  branch  libraries. 

They  were  discussing  the  project  when  they  went  out 
of  the  building  together.  Frances  invited  Cryder  to  ac- 
company her  home,  where  they  could  talk  over  details 
while  they  ate  a  bite.  Only  a  bite  it  would  be,  she  in- 
formed him,  so  he  must  not  expect  anything  elaborate: 
some  salad,  cold  meat,  and  bread  and  butter,  iced  tea. 

But  as  they  were  proceeding  across  Columbia  Park, 
a  city  square  laid  out  as  a  municipal  rest  grounds,  com- 
paratively new,  with  green  turf,  young  trees,  gravel 
paths,  and  in  the  centre  a  pagoda  band-stand,  they  en- 
countered a  girl.  She  was  Minnie  Beeler.  As  she  ap- 
proached, Cryder  casually  glanced  at  her,  then  broke 
off  in  his  speech  to  give  her  a  sharper  regard.  For  an 
instant  her  eyes  met  his,  the  colour  rose  in  her  face, 
and  then  with  quickened  steps  she  hurried  past. 

But  to  the  medical  man  the  abdominous  fullness  of 
her  form,  not  yet  great  but  nevertheless  to  him  de- 
terminative, betrayed  her  secret. 

"Wait,  please,"  he  said  to  his  companion.  And 
turning  about  he  went  after  the  girl,  calling,  "Minnie, 
Minnie,  I  want  to  see  you." 

In  fright  she  started  to  run,  but  Cryder  overtook  her, 
caught  and  held  her  by  an  arm. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  311 

Curiously  Frances  watched  the  pair,  but  was  unable 
to  hear  the  words  of  their  low-toned  conversation.  She 
perceived  that  the  surgeon  was  asking  questions  and 
making  insistent  assertions,  to  which  at  first  the  girl 
returned  angry  replies.  But  plainly,  too,  she  was  terri- 
fied, drawing  back  from  the  man  and  endeavouring  to 
pull  free  from  his  grasp.  Cryder  inexorably  pressed  her 
with  his  queries  and  once  Frances  at  a  sharp  rise  in  his 
voice  heard,  "No,  don't  lie  to  me.  You  can't  fool  me." 

Then  after  a  palpitating  and  panting  silence  on  the 
part  of  the  prisoner  the  girl  began  to  weep.  Cryder 
continued  talking  to  her.  He  drew  her  yet  farther  off 
from  the  spot  where  Frances  stood.  Presently  he  put 
his  arm  about  her  shoulder  and  the  girl,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  hands,  rested  for  a  moment  against  his  breast, 
crying.  Frances  could  see  Minnie's  shoulders  shake 
and  evidently  Cryder  was  soothing  her,  assuring  her. 
At  last  the  girl's  sobbing  diminished;  the  talk  was  re- 
newed— Cryder's  questions,  Minnie's  sniffled  replies, 
a  low  confabulation  obviously  serious. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  Frances  wondered  what  was 
the  matter.  She  was  growing  hot  under  the  noon-day 
sun  that  beat  directly  down  on  the  path.  Fine  beads  of 
perspiration  dampened  her  brow  and  neck,  which  she 
wiped  away  with  her  handkerchief.  She  glanced  round 
the  park  and  wondered  how  long  the  slender  young 
trees  must  grow  before  they  should  furnish  shade; 
wondered  why  the  park  commissioner  did  not  do  some- 
thing to  the  grubs  making  sere  yellow  spots  in  the  turf; 
wondered  if  there  was  anything  as  melancholy  as  an 
empty  band-stand. 


3i2  CRYDER 

Cryder  and  the  girl  came  along  the  path  toward  her. 
Minnie  was  dabbing  her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief  from 
which  Frances  caught  a  smell  of  strong  cheap  perfume 
when  they  drew  near.  On  the  surgeon's  face  was  a 
look  of  gravity  shadowed  by  hesitation. 

"This  girl's  in  trouble  and  I  must  put  matters  right 
for  her,"  he  explained.  "I  need  not  state  what  the 
the  trouble  is;  perhaps  you  can  guess.  But  I  need  your 
help  just  now." 

"Certainly  I'll  help  if  I  can,"  Frances  returned. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would  allow  any  over-nice  scruples 
to  prevent  when  it's  a  matter  of  her  reputation  and 
future.  Now  what  I  want  is  for  you  to  take  her  home 
with  you  and  wait  till  I  return.  Will  you  do  that?" 

"Yes." 

Cryder  stepped  close  to  her. 

"Don't  let  her  get  away  if  she  grows  panicky.  Hold 
on  to  her,"  said  he,  in  a  guarded  voice.  "I'd  never 
drag  you  into  this  kind  of  affair  if  it  wasn't  an  emer- 
gency." He  paused,  then  went  on,  "She's  a  Kettle 
Creek  girl,  an  orphan.  I  feel  a  personal  responsibility 
for  her  welfare.  I've  tried  to  look  after  her  in  a  general 

way,  but "  He  finished  with  a  gesture  indicating 

failure.  "Take  her  along  with  you  now  and  I'll  return 
as  quickly  as  possible." 

He  swung  about  and  strode  toward  the  main  business 
street  at  a  rapid  walk. 

Frances  discovered  Minnie  gazing  at  her  timidly, 
biting  her  lip  and  twisting  a  fold  of  her  dress. 

"Come,  we'll  go,"  Frances  exclaimed,  summoning  a 
smile  to  her  lips  and  slipping  her  arm  through  the 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  313 

other's.  "I  was  just  going  home  to  have  my  lunch. 
Perhaps  you're  hungry,  too."  She  began  to  propel  her 
companion  forward  along  the  gravel  walk. 

"I  had  my  dinner,"  said  Minnie.  "I  was  just 
comin'  from  it  and  goin*  to  work.  I  go  on  at  one 
o'clock." 

"Where  do  you  work?" 

"At  the  telephone  exchange." 

"You  must  know  everything  that's  going  on  then," 
Frances  remarked,  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  we  do!  All  the  news  and  an  awful  lot  of  scandal, 
too.  You  ain't  got  no  idea  what  a  lot  of  things  people 
are  doing,  prom'nent  people,  too,  until  you  work  in  an 
exchange.  There's  just  more  scandal  talked  over  the 
wires " 

But  Minnie  abruptly  ceased.  Appallingly  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  was  in  no  position  to  gossip  of 
the  misdoings  of  others.  Her  eyes  fell  to  the  ground. 
Terror  all  at  once  possessed  her. 

"I  can't  do  it  like  Doc  says,"  she  cried,  halting. 
"Archie  will  just  kill  me." 

"Didn't  you  promise  Doctor  Cryder?  Then  you 
must  come,"  Frances  said,  firmly.  "Whatever  he's 
doing,  it's  for  your  good." 

"But  Archie'll  never  speak  to  me  again."  Her 
voice  quavered.  "And  he's  been  keepin*  away  from 
me  as  it  is." 

"Is  your  trouble  with — with  him?" 

"Yes." 

They  walked  out  of  the  park  across  a  street  and  the 
length  of  a  block  without  either  speaking.  The  truth 


3i4  CRYDER 

of  the  girl's  predicament  all  at  once  had  cleaved  through 
Frances's  speculations  and  wonderment  as  to  Minnie's 
case;  and  an  aversion,  a  momentary  sickness,  had  left 
her  tongueless.  Her  impulse  was  to  drop  the  arm  of 
the  wretched,  offending  girl  and  get  home  alone  as 
quickly  as  possible.  To  her  the  thing  seemed  horrible, 
contaminating,  vile.  Then  her  common  sense  read- 
justed itself  and  she  braced  herself  to  go  through  with 
the  disagreeable  business. 

"You  think  I'm  awful  wicked,  don't  you?"  Minnie 
ventured.  "And  I  reckon  I  am." 

"I  think  you're  unfortunate  and  unhappy  and  at 
this  moment  in  need  of  friends,"  was  the  answer. 

"He  said  he  loved  me,"  the  girl  whimpered. 

"And  do  you  love  him?" 

"I  do  more'n  anybody  in  the  whole  world!  I'm 
just  crazy  about  him — and  all  the  other  girls  are,  too. 
I  guess  maybe  that  had  something  to  do  with  it.  But, 
no,  it  was  just  hisself.  He  has  such  nice  hair  and  skin 
and  eyes  and  is  such  a  dandy  dancer  and  is  so  clever, 
always  havin'  something  on  the  end  of  his  tongue  to 
make  one  laugh,  and  he  can  be  so  sweet  and  soft- 
speakin'  and  admirin'  and — and  everything.  I  loved 
him  in  spite  of  myself." 

Pitifully  her  eyes  were  ashine  and  her  face  aglow. 
In  her  heart  she  was  seeing  the  youth  glorified  by  her 
passion.  To  this  poor  ignorant  girl  from  Kettle  Creek 
the  town  fellow  with  his  dapper  airs  and  glib  wit  and 
whispered  flattery  must  have  appeared  like  a  radiant 
prince,  Frances  conceived — and  now  she  was  paying 
the  penalty  of  her  unsophistication. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  315 

A  deep  compassion  moved  in  her  breast  for  the 
victim.  Weak,  not  wicked,  she  was.  The  evil  lay 
elsewhere — with  the  man,  with  society  perhaps  as  a 
whole  that  left  a  young  girl  unenlightened  and  un- 
protected to  learn  for  herself  the  pitfalls  and  alluring 
quicksands  of  life. 

At  the  door  of  the  house  Minnie  again  quailed  and 
declared  herself  incapable  of  carrying  through  her  part, 
seeking  to  disengage  herself  from  Frances's  arm, 
trembling,  declaring  Archie  would  hate  her  forever. 
Only  by  combined  persuasion  and  urgence  did  Frances 
finally  force  the  girl  into  the  dwelling. 

"No,  I  won't  take  off  my  hat,"  Minnie  said,  at  the 
suggestion.  "I  ain't  stayin'.  Maybe  after  a  few 
minutes  I'll  be  goin',  after  all.  I  don't  want  Archie  to 
get  mad  and  have  nothin'  to  do  with  me;  he's  got  cold 
lately,  as  it  is,  and  talks  of  goin'  away,  and " 

"Does  he  know  about  you?" 

"No."  Minnie  shook  her  head.  "I  ain't  dared 
tell  him.  But  sometimes  I  thinks  he  suspects,  and 
that's  the  reason  he's  quit  takin'  me  round.  Once  he 
asked  me  outright  and  I  said  No."  She  meditated. 
"There's  doctors  who  get  girls  out  of  trouble,  I've  heard, 
but  I  don't  know  'em,  and  besides  I'd  be  afraid. 
Oh,  you  don't  understand  how  I've  worried,  Miss 
Huff,  lest  you've  been  through  it.  You  ain't,  have 
you?" 

"No,"  said  Frances. 

"I  didn't  know.  Doc  gettin'  you  to  help,  I  thought 
maybe  you  had.  A  lot  of  'em  have  nowadays,  from 
what  the  girls  round  the  exchange  say." 


3i6  CRYDER 

Their  wait  was  much  longer  than  either  had  antici- 
pated. One  o'clock  was  chimed  by  the  little  gilt  clock 
on  the  mantel  in  the  room,  then  the  half-hour,  and 
finally  the  hour  of  two.  Minnie  had  alternate  fits  of 
buoyancy  and  of  depression,  of  talkativeness  and 
silence,  of  impatience  and  of  fears.  Archie  would  be 
awful  mad.  She  would  lose  her  job,  being  late.  And 
people  would  say  things  when  they  heard. 

Frances  remarked  that  under  the  circumstances  none 
of  these  things  was  the  chief  consideration. 

In  her  mind  she  was  contemplating  the  surgeon  again. 
Would  Schuyler  Patterson  so  boldly  have  grasped  the 
situation  to  remedy  it?  A  bitter  smile  came  to  her 
lips.  He  would  have  passed  by  on  the  other  side,  care- 
ful to  avoid  such  an  indelicate  affair;  she  could  see  just 
how  distressed  he  would  have  been  if  he  knew  she  were 
a  participant,  how  vexed,  how  reproachful.  A  feeling  of 
satisfaction  rose  in  her  bosom.  For  once  she  was  flout- 
ing and  ignoring  the  petty  conventionalities  and  hy- 
pocrisies which  bound  one's  hands  from  good-doing. 
She  experienced  a  refreshing  surge  of  spiritual  freedom. 
Such  Cryder  must  have  when,  trampling  through  the 
cobwebs  of  silly  observances  and  of  sickish  respect- 
ability, he  performed  his  deeds  of  benevolence. 

Toward  half-past  two  they  heard  a  car  halt  at  the 
curb  outside  and  through  the  open  doorway  the  murmur 
of  voices,  one  the  surgeon's.  Footsteps  sounded  on  the 
cement  walk  and  then  on  the  veranda.  Frances  ran  to 
the  door  and  admitted  the  visitors,  the  youth  following 
the  surgeon  into  the  house  proving  to  be  the  blond 
soda-water  clerk  at  Sherrill's,  whom  Frances  frequently 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  317 

had  seen  at  the  store  mixing  sodas  or  sundaes  but  whose 
name  she  had  not  known. 

The  young  fellow  and  Minnie  gazed  at  each  other. 

"Hello,  Minnie,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  attempt  at 
nonchalance. 

"  Hello,  Archie.     You  come  ? " 

"Yes,  I  come."  Then  he  crossed  the  room  and 
dropped  into  a  stuffed  chair,  where  he  began  to  glance 
round  the  room  as  if  inspecting  its  contents. 

Cryder's  smile  as  he  turned  to  Frances  was  a  trifle 
hard,  bringing  out  the  lines  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth. 

"Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,"  said  he.  "Archie 
and  I  had  to  discuss  matters  at  some  length  and  I  found 
it  necessary  to  exert  a  little  moral  pressure  before  he 
could  see  my  point  of  view,  but  at  last  he  did.  I  told 
him  it  was  either  a  marriage  license  or  a  jail  warrant 
and  wisely  he  concluded  the  former  was  the  better. 
Now  we're  going  to  have  a  wedding.  I  telephoned  the 
Reverend  Stiles  and  he's  waiting.  Archie  has  the 
license.  Do  you  care  to  go  along  and  see  the  finish? 
It  isn't  necessary,  however.  We  can  get  another  wit- 
ness. Mrs.  Stiles,  probably." 

"I'd  rather  have  Miss  HufF,"  Minnie  said.  "She's 
been  so  good  a  friend  to  me." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Frances. 

"All  right.     We  can  all  pile  into  my  car,  I  imagine." 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  four  walked  out  of  the 
Presbyterian  parsonage.  Archie  lighted  a  cigarette; 
Minnie  clung  to  his  arm,  radiant,  voluble,  full  of  new 
plans.  In  her  left  hand  she  held  fast  a  small  roll  of 


3i8  CRYDER 

currency  which  Cryder  had  given  her  for  a  wedding 
present. 

The  newly  wed  pair  talked  for  a  few  minutes  with 
the  surgeon  and  Frances  and  then  set  off  toward  the 
business  section. 

"This  has  kept  you  from  being  back  at  the  library 
on  time,"  Cryder  stated,  as  he  helped  his  companion 
into  the  runabout.  "I'll  set  you  down  at  the  building 
in  two  minutes." 

"No,  take  me  home,"  she  replied.  "I  haven't  had 
lunch,  nor  have  you.  The  library  can  go  hang.  For 
I  feel  so  happy  I  wouldn't  care  if  the  board  discharged 
me."  Tears  trembled  on  her  lashes. 

"  It  pulled  her  out  of  an  ugly  place.  And  you've  been 
very  good  to  assist  me,"  Cryder  remarked.  "Prob- 
ably he'll  eventually  desert  her.  I  had  a  time  bringing 
him  up  to  the  scratch;  he  said  it  would  be  marrying 
beneath  him.  What  do  you  think  of  that?  The  young 
devil!  Well,  he  came  after  I  told  him  a  few  things." 

"You're  a  good  man,  Doctor  Cryder,"  Frances  ex- 
claimed. 

He  laughed. 

"A  good  man  with  a  bad  name — in  Kettle  Creek, 
at  any  rate.  My  God,  how  they  hate  me  up  there 
now!"  He  meditated,  a  frown  darkening  his  brow. 
"And  to-morrow  the  smash  comes."  Frances  con- 
tinued silent,  judging  that  words  at  this  particular 
moment  were  not  what  he  wished.  He  took  a  deep 
breath  and  straightening  his  shoulders  settled  back  in 
the  seat.  "There  they  go." 

Archie  and  Minnie  were  hastening  along,  their  heels 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  319 

clicking  on  the  cement  walk.  Frances  waved  a  hand  at 
them  and  Minnie  responded. 

"I  hope  they  really  live  happily,"  said  she. 

Cryder  hoped  so. 

"Who  was  it,  I  wonder,  who  said  marriages  were 
made  in  Heaven?"  he  speculated. 

IV 

As  they  ate  they  talked  of  Kettle  Creek.  Frances 
had  hastily  made  some  tomato  and  lettuce  salad, 
sliced  a  platter  of  cold  roast  beef,  and  set  the  table. 
But  Cryder  partook  of  little  of  the  food,  explaining  on 
her  protests  that  he  had  had  small  appetite  of  late  and 
that  he  now  did  without  meals  altogether  half  the  time. 

"I  haven't  enough  to  do,  I  imagine,"  he  said.  "Now 
when  Kettle  Creekers  are  sick  they  send  for  a  young 
fellow  who  has  hung  out  his  shingle  at  Berger;  and 
even  people  along  the  river  and  in  the  towns  farther  up 
are  beginning  to  drop  mev  Kettle  Creekers  have  been 
industrious  in  keeping  the  lie  about  me  alive — and  a 
host  of  other  lies,  I  suppose.  Here  in  Maronville,  even, 
I  notice  a  change.  Men  are  less  friendly;  I'm  under 
suspicion  as  to  my  probity.  Though  the  law  considers 
a  person  innocent  until  guilty,  public  opinion  less 
generous  harkens  to  the  first  accursed  falsehood  about 
a  fellow  and  gives  him  the  benefit  of  the  guilt.  It's 
strange  how  readily  the  public  accepts  slander  as  truth. 
Well,  the  thing  won't  last  long  now  as  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned." 

The  dispassionate  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken 
marked  how  utterly  transformed  was  the  man  whom 


320  CRYDER 

Frances  had  known  the  year  before.  Gone  was  the  hot, 
intolerant  spirit,  gone  the  burly  self-sufficiency,  the 
noisy  egotism. 

"You're  planning  to  leave  Kettle  Creek?"  she 
questioned. 

"The  Hedley  company  will  plan  it  for  me,"  said  he. 
"To-morrow  they  will  become  owners  of  the  timber 
tract  and  we  then  may  expect  a  prompt  summons  from 
them  to  get  out.  I  really  have  no  plans  at  all  at 
present,  but  I  shall  go  somewhere,  of  course.  No,  I'll 
not  remain  in  Maronville.  Possibly  I'll  go  East. 
Then  I've  considered  entering  Red  Cross  work  in  Cen- 
tral Europe,  or  the  Near  East,  or  Russia;  some  place 
where  my  services  will  be  of  value.  The  best  thing  I 
can  do  is  to  make  a  change  to  a  spot  at  a  great  distance. 
Not  because  I  want  to  run  away  from  the  gossip  about 
me  here;  that's  not  the  reason;  I  can  stand  it.  My 
usefulness,  however,  it  seems  to  me,  might  be  greater 
in  another  field.  I  haven't  given  up  the  idea  that  I 
can  be  useful  to  humanity  in  the  broader  sense,  though 
I  confess  my  ideas  have  altered  as  to  the  degree  of  that 
usefulness.  Formerly  I  had  a  notion  I  was  destined  to 
be  nobly  useful" — a  slight  smile  of  deprecation  ap- 
peared on  his  lips  as  he  paused  and  sat  staring  beyond 
her  at  the  wall,  at  the  past  lying  behind  him — "but 
now  I  shall  be  content  if  I  simply  can  be  useful  in  a 
moderate  way." 

"Your  work  did  have  nobility,"  she  asserted.  "You 
were  more  than  physician,  it  seems  to  me:  you  were  a 
protector  and  guide  as  well,  a  leader  of  poor  and  un- 
fortunate folk  in  the  wilderness." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  321 

Frances  had  pushed  her  plate  aside.  She  sat  with 
forearms  resting  on  the  cloth,  hands  clasped,  her  eyes 
fastened  upon  his  face  now  furrowed  by  deep  lines 
of  care  which  brought  into  greater  prominence  than  ever 
the  heavy  bone  structure  of  his  countenance,  the  plain- 
ness of  his  features — his  big  forehead,  shaggy  brows, 
thick  fleshy  nose  and  long  solid  jaws,  wide  mouth  with 
slightly  up-thrust  under-lip  about  which  dwelt  a  sug- 
gestion at  the  moment  of  tautness  and  of  suffering.  To 
a  stranger  he  would  have  given  an  impression  of 
ugliness  at  first  glance,  but  never  one  of  mediocrity, 
of  anything  but  of  intellectual  strength  and  spiritual 
zeal. 

"  If  I  was  a  leader,  I  led  badly,"  said  he.  "  But  I  have 
my  doubts  that  any  one  really  followed.  During  the 
last  few  weeks  I've  had  much  time  to  think,  and  that's 
my  conclusion.  People  don't  want  to  be  led,  I  see  now. 
I  thought  to  make  the  settlers  in  Kettle  Creek  all  over 
in  a  sort  of  general  uplift  of  my  own  and  it  couldn't 
be  done.  Sometimes  I  don't  know  what  to  think;  the 
morass  of  ignorance  on  the  one  hand  and  the  rising  tide 
of  selfishness  and  greed  on  the  other  seem  to  be  compass- 
ing a  submergence  of  national  existence,  and  more, 
swallowing  the  whole  human  race  slowly  but  surely. 
We  used  to  brag  of  our  advancement,  but  how  have  we 
advanced  except  in  creature  comforts — in  bathtubs 
and  saucepans,  in  automobiles  and  telephones,  in 
electric  hair-curlers  and  push  buttons?  Not  in  toler- 
ance of  each  other,  certainly,  nor  in  respect  of  law. 
Great  heavens,  everyone  breaks  the  law  nowadays  in 
speeding,  or  secretly  buying  liquor,  or  in  padding  income 


322  CRYDER 

tax  returns,  or  in  greater  infractions.  No,  not  in 
respect  of  law,  nor  in  morality,  nor  in  sanity.  Man- 
kind to-day  is  like  a  satyr,  half-beast,  half-human, 
dancing  in  muck  with  a  sardonic  smile  for  the  vanishing 
things  once  held  dear.  The  inventions  of  to-day  may 
save  steps,  but  do  they  save  souls?  Murder  is  almost 
a  pastime  to-day,  we've  grown  so  indifferent.  Money- 
making  is  a  religion,  we've  grown  so  avaricious.  Mob 
rule  is  becoming  common,  we've  grown  so  callous. 
Mockery  of  everything  is  the  fashion,  we've  grown  so 
disrespectful.  Meanness  of  spirit  predominates,  we've 
grown  so  base."  He  leaned  his  head  upon  a  hand, 
meditating.  "Did  we  not  have  to-day  an  example  in 
young  Archie  Hay  of  the  despicable  selfishness  prevalent 
throughout  the  land?"  he  went  on,  presently.  "You 
find  it  everywhere  in  matters  pertaining  to  sex,  to  busi- 
ness, to  politics,  to  all  the  social  relations,  among  the  low 
and  among  middle-class  and  among  the  high  without 
distinction.  Crime  no  longer  terrifies,  and  sin  no 
longer  shames.  Both  are  openly  flaunted,  defended, 
excused — yes,  relished  by  a  corrupted  people  and  even 
admired  and  imitated.  I  could  name  you  innumerable 
instances,  but  it  is  needless.  We're  becoming  like 
those  fat  men-about-town  with  rotten  hearts  and  cyni- 
cal souls  that  you  see  hanging  around  hotels  in  New 
York.  America  is  suffering  from  fatty  degeneration  of 
heart  and  brain.  And  I  say,  God  help  her  soon  or  it 
will  be  too  late!" 

Frances  sat  stupefied.  That  this  man  who  had 
always  possessed  such  a  tremendous  store  of  courage 
now  should  be  plunged  into  an  abyss  of  despair  was 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  323 

dreadful.  What  torments  of  mind  he  had  undergone 
to  bring  him  to  such  a  pass  she  could  only  guess. 

"You  were  more  hopeful  when  last  we  talked  here," 
she  stated,  after  a  thoughtful  period. 

"The  trouble  is  that  I've  lost  faith  in  myself  and 
consequently  in  everything,"  said  he.  A  faint  smile 
rested  on  his  lips.  "Perhaps  I've  become  neurasthenic. 
I  used  to  have  no  sympathy  whatever  with  people  who 
took  a  morbid  view  of  life,  but  now  I  can  understand 
their  condition  of  mind." 

"Then  you  confess  it's  a  condition  of  mind  that 
causes  you  to  see  the  world  headed  for  the  bow-wows," 
Frances  exclaimed. 

"Partly.  But,  too,  looking  at  the  world  with  im- 
personal eyes  one  must  see  it  is  sick  physically  and 
spiritually." 

They  continued  to  talk.  A  keen  desire  to  give  him 
fresh  courage,  fresh  hope,  burned  in  the  girl's  heart. 
During  the  summer  he  had  come  to  bulk  larger  and 
larger  in  her  thoughts  and  to  fill  a  higher  and  higher 
place  in  her  esteem.  And  at  times  she  had  felt  a 
passionate  longing  to  hear  his  voice  and  to  be  in  his 
presence,  especiaHy  when  a  weariness  of  Patterson's 
suave  attendance  and  affable  air,  so  lacking  in  real 
vigour,  took  possession  of  her. 

She  wondered  if  she  would  be  able  for  the  rest  of  her 
life  to  endure  the  lawyer's  meticulous  amiability,  his 
cautious  restraint  of  impulses,  his  pains  to  be  urbane 
that  at  the  bottom  were  largely  policy,  his  studied 
efforts  to  be  popular  with  all  classes,  his  obsequious 
admiration  of  the  wealthy  and  the  powerful  which  she 


CRYDER 

had  discovered,  and  his  milk-and-water  love-making. 
Had  he  but  once  shown  that  he  had  the  energy  and 
temper  to  hit  out  from  the  shoulder  at  something — at 
anything.  In  a  husband  every  woman  wants  a  little 
of  the  primitive  male — lion-heartedness  that  can  be 
provoked  for  a  righteous  cause,  a  battle-spirit  that 
leaps  at  a  challenge.  Frances  perceived  this  now. 
Seeing  it  not  in  her  fiance  she  was  gnawing  at  her  soul 
in  disappointment  and  dread. 

With  yearning  eyes  she  gazed  at  the  man  across  the 
table  from  her.  Would  that  Schuyler  Patterson  had 
more  of  his  fervid  concern  with  life,  his  restless  and 
rugged  pride  in  vital  accomplishments!  What  if  Cry- 
der  had  failed?  What  if  he  despaired?  He  had  been 
captain  of  his  soul  and  ever  would  be  though  beaten  to 
his  knees,  though  a  hundred  times  humbled  in  the 
dust. 

Frances  experienced  an  incomprehensible  trembling 
of  her  limbs  and  a  strange  dismaying  weakness  when 
she  considered  that  the  surgeon  might  soon  depart 
from  the  region,  perhaps  to  the  afflicted  sections  of 
Europe  as  he  had  suggested.  She  was  just  coming  to 
know  him  and  to  understand  him,  to  perceive  the  fine, 
self-abnegating  character  of  the  man,  brought  forth, 
refined,  as  it  were,  by  the  fire  of  adversity  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected.  A  sense  of  imminent  loss  assailed 
her.  This  was  followed  by  a  painful  realization  that 
this  was  highly  improper,  if  not  actually  disloyal  to  the 
man  to  whom  she  was  affianced;  but  singularly  she  had 
no  shame.  Almost  she  had  a  desire  to  commit  some  act 
which  would  shock  and  offend  her  lover  to  the  point  of 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  325 

ending  her  troth.  The  prospect  gave  her  a  thrill,  a  lift 
of  spirits:  freedom  again,  disentanglement  from  the 
binding  net  of  his  complacent  and  colourless  devotion. 

Cryder  had  never  spoken  of  her  engagement  or  of  her 
approaching  marriage  to  the  attorney.  She  doubted, 
indeed,  that  he  thought  of  it,  as  if  with  the  failure  of  his 
own  suit  he  were  indifferent  as  to  the  disposition  of  her 
love.  Since  that  hour  on  the  ridge,  when  she  had  given 
him  his  answer,  he  had  never  again  referred  to  the 
matter.  Curiously  she  pondered  the  fact,  not  without 
dissatisfaction.  Men  were  strange.  Had  he  ceased  to 
love  her?  They  were  so  matter  of  fact.  Had  he  really 
grown  cold  ? 

Her  thoughts  continued  to  eddy  throughout  their 
conversation  about  the  idea  of  his  departure. 

"Wouldn't  you  do  wisely  to  take  up  practice  here?" 
she  questioned,  at  last.  "You're  known  in  Maronville, 
and — well,  people  would  learn  the  falsity  of  the  reports 
circulated  about  you." 

"I've  no  inclination  to  remain." 

"Your  friends  would  be  sorry  to  have  you  go." 

"Possibly  that's  true.  I've  a  few  friends  yet  left 
me,  though  they're  not  numerous." 

"I,  for  one,  would  feel  badly." 

"You're  very  good  to  say  that,"  he  replied. 

"Your  fine  surgical  work  is  really  more  greatly 
appreciated  than  you  think.  You've  operated  people 
who  were  in  serious  condition  and  who  keep  a  warm 
place  in  their  hearts  for  you  on  that  account.  I  don't 
know  of  one  who  doesn't  regard  you  in  the  highest 
degree — with  one  exception.  Yes,  there  was  one,  I 


326  CRYDER 

recall.  She  was  ungrateful  enough  to  speak  slightingly 
of  you." 

"Perhaps  she  thought  I  charged  too  much,"  said 
he,  ironically. 

"Well,  not  for  that  reason,  I  think.  I  don't  usually 
pass  on  gossip,  but  she  was  such  a — a  cat.  I  never 
liked  her,  never  from  the  first  day,  and  never  trusted 
her.  See,  I'm  taking  you  into  my  confidence.  The 
woman  I  mean  is  Mrs.  Forsythe." 

Cryder's  hand  lying  on  the  table  closed  on  a  handful 
of  the  cloth.  His  face  turned  gray.  By  an  effort  he 
got  to  his  feet,  hastily,  clumsily.  Frances  involun- 
tarily shrank  at  the  burning  fury  of  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  what  she  told  you,  but  whatever  it 
was  it's  a  damnable  lie,"  he  said,  harshly.  "It  was  her 
infamous  tongue  that  gave  birth  to  the  slander  which 
turned  Kettle  Creek  against  me  and  made  me  a  pariah. 
She  did  it  deliberately.  She  did  it  knowing  full  well 
that  I  should  suffer.  She  did  it  to  wreck  me,  ruin  me — 
as  she  did  once  before." 

"Before!"  Frances  echoed,  in  wonderment. 

"Yes."  He  stood  fiercely  glowering  across  the 
room,  his  lips  twitching,  beset  by  an  emotion  which 
seemed  all  the  more  consuming  from  long  repression. 
"Yes,  before,"  he  repeated.  "Eleven  years  ago,  in 
another  state,  in  another  town.  She  was  my  wife  and 
cast  me  aside  without  mercy.  Divorced  me  in  cold  blood 
because  I  was  poor  and  she  was  mercenary.  She  nearly 
broke  my  spirit  then.  She  has  nearly  broken  my  life 
now,  perhaps  has  succeeded.  And  who  knows,  probably 
she'll  appear  again  to  give  me  a  last  stab,  a  quietus." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  327 

"She  was  your  wife?"  came  in  an  incredulous  gasp. 

"My  evil  genius,  say  rather." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  that  when  you  asked  me  to 
marry  you,"  she  said. 

"No.  There  I  did  you  a  great  wrong;  I  should  have 
told  you  all.  I  thought  she  was  out  of  my  life  and  that 
it  would  only  perplex  and  pain  you.  And,  Frances, 
I  loved  you — if  that's  any  extenuation." 

The  sudden  gentleness  of  his  tone  wrung  her  heart. 
He  was  looking  at  her,  too,  with  the  face  of  a  man  who 
has  lost  what  is  most  dear  and  who  stands  a  long  way 
off,  wretched,  sorrowful. 

All  at  once  she  sprang  up. 

"Go,  go.  I  can't  bear  this,"  she  cried,  with  eyes 
brimming. 

Rushing  past  him  she  ran  into  the  kitchen,  where  she 
dropped  upon  a  chair  and  sat  pressing  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes,  with  shoulders  shaking  with  sobs. 

Cryder's  departing  tread  sounded  in  the  next  room, 
then  the  faint  clap  of  the  front  screen  door,  and  lastly 
a  rattle  of  detonations  before  the  house  as  the  auto- 
mobile exhaust  exploded  and  the  car  spun  away. 


About  five  o'clock  Jack  Huff  came  home  and  bade 
Frances  make  ready  to  go  to  dinner  with  him  and 
Patterson  at  the  Country  Club,  and  added  that  after- 
ward he  was  taking  the  nine-twenty-seven  to  Spokane. 
He  had  been  summoned  to  the  Heidenstreit  office  for  a 
conference,  he  said;  it  might  mean  another  and  a  better 
job,  possibly  working  directly  under  the  "big  fellows" 


328  CRYDER 

in  executive  work,  what  he  always  had  aimed  for.  He 
was  full  of  repressed  excitement,  exultant,  eager;  and 
set  the  hot  water  running  furiously  in  the  bathtub  and 
flung  some  shirts  and  collars  and  pajamas  into  his 
travelling  bag  with  a  rattle  of  dresser  drawers,  and 
interpolated  his  hasty  trampings  about  by  shouted 
fragments  of  advice  and  information.  He  would  be 
gone  only  a  day  and  two  nights.  Frankie  must  have 
some  girl  to  stay  with  her;  she  had  better  telephone 
Belle  Marley  or  someone  at  once  about  coming;  and 
would  she  have  the  plumber  attend  to  the  leaky  pipe 
in  the  cellar,  which  he  had  neglected;  and  where  was  his 
heather  knit-silk  tie;  and  he  had  a  splinter  in  his  thumb 
she  must  dig  out.  It  was  Patterson's  suggestion  that 
they  go  to  the  Club.  He  had  called  Jack  up  during  the 
afternoon  to  propose  it.  It  was  a  celebration.  Cele- 
brating what  ?  She  ought  to  know. 

Frances  was  in  no  mood  for  either  guessing  or  cele- 
brating, and  indeed  she  would  have  preferred  not  to 
dine  away  from  home.  In  spite  of  the  powder  with 
which  she  had  rubbed  her  eyes  and  cheeks  before  return- 
ing to  the  library  after  Cryder's  departure,  her  face  yet 
revealed  traces  of  redness  about  eyes  and  nose.  She 
thought  of  the  Country  Club  itself  with  distaste,  newly 
organized,  with  a  tract  of  ground  beside  the  river  below 
the  city  a  couple  of  miles,  a  ranch  purchased  the  spring 
previous  and  yet  in  a  chaotic  state  between  a  farm  and  a 
pleasure  place;  the  small  clubhouse  built  and  furnished, 
sitting  among  trees  near  the  stream,  but  the  grounds 
not  yet  sodded  or  smoothed,  in  a  process  of  change, 
rough  hummocks  still  crowned  by  clumps  of  greasewood 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  329 

or  underbrush,  ditches  filled  with  weeds,  the  level 
stretches  plowed  but  bare,  flinging  up  clouds  of  yellow 
dust  in  a  wind,  as  had  happened  on  the  last  occasion 
she  had  been  there  when  everyone  came  away  looking 
like  Mongolians  and  even  the  golf  fiends  had  been 
driven  to  shelter.  The  dinners,  too,  were  only  fair. 
Once  a  dinner  party  given  by  Mrs.  Emmons,  she 
remembered,  had  been  an  utter  failure  because  the 
Negro  chef  and  the  two  waiters  had  got  hold  of  a 
bottle  of  bootleg  whiskey  and  quarrelled,  and  the  meal 
had  burnt  black  during  the  altercation. 

But  if  Frances  had  no  especial  desire  to  celebrate 
whatever  it  was  Jack  was  celebrating,  neither  had  she 
the  spirit  to  oppose  the  arrangement.  She  would  not 
be  lively  company,  but  it  was  easier  to  drift  to-night. 
She  need  not  talk  much.  She  could  pretend  an  in- 
disposition, which  would  be  only  half-pretense  after 
all,  for  she  felt  a  precarious  uncertainty  of  nerves.  Her 
mind  continually  was  occupied  by  reflections  of  a 
depressing  nature,  of  thoughts  of  the  man  with  whom 
she  had  talked  that  afternoon,  by  vague  and  disturbing 
regrets.  A  misery  of  heart  steadily  afflicted  her  rising 
from  the  haunting  fact  of  her  imminent  marriage. 

She  realized  that  she  did  not  love  Patterson,  had 
never  loved  him.  What  monstrous  illusion  had  led  her 
into  an  engagement  with  the  man  ?  Her  brain  sickened 
at  the  thought  of  going  through  with  the  thing;  but  if 
she  refused,  what  an  unstable,  vacillating  creature  she 
should  appear,  and  what  a  stream  of  hateful  speculation 
and  gossip  would  be  let  loose  among  the  people  whom 
they  knew. 


330  CRYDER 

This  was  still  Frances's  distressed  state  of  mind  when 
Patterson  called  about  half-past  six  and  carried  the 
Huffs  off  in  his  car.  Other  cars  also  were  making  for 
the  Club,  tossing  up  clouds  of  dust  so  that  a  brownish- 
gray  haze  hung  suspended  in  the  air  through  which 
motorists  must  pass.  The  two  men  jested  about  it. 
Frances  felt  an  evil  temper  supplanting  her  melancholy. 
She  had  a  desire  to  smash  the  Country  Club  and  a 
hundred  other  things  along  with  it.  The  asinine  folly 
of  a  small  town  seeking  to  appear  smart,  citified,  snob- 
bishly metropolitan! 

Most  of  the  tables  upon  the  dining  veranda  were 
already  occupied  by  dinner  groups  when  they  were  con- 
ducted to  the  place  reserved  for  them,  a  table  at  one 
end  of  the  row  and  somewhat  apart,  giving  a  certain 
degree  of  privacy  in  addition  to  a  view  toward  the 
river.  Patterson  always  secured  it  when  possible.  He 
did  not  play  golf  and  did  not  like,  he  had  told  Frances, 
the  noisy  disputes  and  laughter  of  the  players  while  they 
ate;  and  many  of  the  tables  with  ladies  were  no  better, 
boisterousness  being  mistaken  for  gayety,  frequently 
augmented  by  nips  from  pocket  flasks.  Patterson  did 
not  care  for  that  sort  of  thing. 

But  on  this  evening  he  appeared  animated  by  a  spirit 
of  liveliness,  of  mild  jubilation,  in  harmony  with  Jack's 
excited,  jovial  humour.  On  reaching  the  clubhouse 
the  two  men  had  excused  themselves,  leaving  Frances 
to  wait,  and  had  gone  off  somewhere  for  ten  minutes. 
Both  had  a  higher  colour  on  their  return,  and  she  caught 
on  their  breaths  a  faint  reek  of  liquor  as  the  three  of 
them  went  out  to  their  table. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  331 

"We  just  went  to  the  locker  room  for  a  couple  of 
snifters,"  Jack  explained.  "This  was  some  genuine 
old  bourbon  that  Emmons  gave  Schuyler  out  of  his  own 
stock." 

Patterson's  smile  was  a  little  apologetic. 

"One  can't  refuse  whiskey  that's  worth  its  weight 
in  gold,  you  know,"  said  he. 

They  reached  the  table  awaiting  them,  where  the 
chairs  had  been  tipped  up  and  on  the  linen  lay  a 
"Reserved"  card  with  a  slip  of  paper  beside  it  contain- 
ing Patterson's  name  scribbled  in  pencil.  The  attorney 
drew  back  a  seat  for  Frances,  while  one  of  the  coloured 
waiters  whisked  off  the  card  and  moved  the  vase  holding 
pink  and  purple  sweet  peas  half  an  inch  to  the  right. 

Frances  was  speculating  on  the  peculiar  effect  of  the 
prohibition  law  on  the  masculine  mind.  Men  seemed 
to  consider  it  the  thing  to  do  to  violate  it;  there  were 
constant  references  to  liquor,  furtive  jests  and  an  air  of 
bravado  in  the  manner  of  those  at  the  Club  who  had 
imbibed  which  struck  her  as  being  at  once  singularly 
silly  and  essentially  childish.  It  was  like  the  sly  swag- 
ger of  boys  who  have  robbed  a  melon  patch.  She  had 
imagined  Jack  and  Schuyler  Patterson  above  such 
petty  elation,  but,  she  perceived,  both  now  were  suffer- 
ing from  a  spirit  of  self-complacency  in  their  insignifi- 
cant legal  infraction. 

Both,  too,  were  more  loquacious  and  more  animated 
during  the  meal  as  a  result  of  their  potations,  with  faces 
growing  flushed  as  they  ate.  Jack's  mind  inevitably 
dwelt  on  his  trip  to  Spokane,  of  which  Patterson  ap- 
peared already  to  be  intimately  informed. 


332  CRYDER 

"It  will  be  a  big  step  for  you  to  get  into  the  main 
office,"  the  lawyer  asserted,  nodding  half-a-dozen  times, 
his  brown,  shining  vandyke  beard  wagging  at  each  nod. 
"And  yet  you  hear  people  say  that  corporations  are 
soulless,  that  they  don't  reward  individual  effort.  As  a 
fact,  it  has  been  my  observation  that  big  concerns  are 
the  quickest  of  all  to  recognize  and  utilize  the  abilities 
of  men." 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  Jack  exclaimed.  "And  all  I 
want  are  chances." 

"You'll  have  them." 

"Well,  I  showed  the  Spokane  office  what  I  could  do 
in  this  Kettle  Creek  business.  Wagner  never  would 
have  thought  of  it.  The  idea  was  mine.  Between  our- 
selves, Wagner's  a  good  man  but  limited." 

"Good  but  limited,  quite  right,"  Patterson  agreed, 
amiably.  "As  a  mill  manager  he's  satisfactory,  but  he 
lacks  the  real  executive  ability  that  puts  a  man  at  the 
top." 

"  For  one  thing,  he's  not  educated,"  Jack  said,  leaning 
back  in  his  seat  and  wiping  his  lips  with  a  brushing 
movement  of  his  napkin. 

"Nor  has  he  the  necessary  social  instincts  or  training 
to  fit  in  higher  places,"  Patterson  remarked.  "They're 
as  essential  as  a  knowledge  of  the  lumber  business." 

At  this  moment  they  were  finishing  the  dessert,  late 
strawberries  with  whipped  cream  and  black  coffee. 

"Mr.  Wagner's  penitentiary  record  is  against  him, 
too,  I  presume,"  Frances  interjected. 

"Unquestionably,"  the  attorney  assented.  "One's 
record  is  better  clean." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  333 

Jack  ate  a  strawberry,  pursed  his  lips. 

"I've  figured  out  what's  lacking  in  Wagner,"  he  ex- 
claimed, suddenly  "Imagination.  Now  as  I  said 
before,  the  Kettle  Creek  scheme  would  never  have 
occurred  to  him.  It  was  my  plan.  Once  I  had  ex- 
plained it  he  recognized  its  possibilities,  but  until  I 
had  he  was  at  sea.  I'll  say  this  for  him,  though,  he  was 
square.  When  he  took  up  the  matter  with  Archibald 
and  the  others  at  headquarters  he  told  them  it  was 
my  suggestion.  He  didn't  attempt  to  steal  the 
credit." 

"Very  square  of  him,  very." 

"And  he  has  consulted  me  throughout." 

"Naturally  he  should,"  Patterson  said. 

"And  to-morrow  the  timber  will  be  ours." 

Jack's  tone  left  no  doubt  about  the  matter,  and  no 
more  did  his  countenance,  firmly  set.  To  Frances  the 
conversation  was  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  mystery  that 
piqued  her  interest,  particularly  as  it  became  more  and 
more  impressed  upon  her  that  it  turned  on  affairs  of  the 
Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association. 

"Do  you  mean,  Jack,  that  you  had  something  to  do 
with  your  company  putting  the  settlers'  union  out  of 
business?"  she  queried. 

Her  brother  laughed.  He  glanced  triumphantly  at 
Patterson,  then  flashed  his  look  back  upon  Frances. 

"Rather!  That's  what  I  meant  at  home  when  I 
said  we  were  celebrating  to-night,"  he  declared.  "I 
guess  there's  no  harm  in  telling  you  now  as  the  thing 
is  practically  finished.  But  keep  your  mouth  closed 
about  it." 


334  CRYDER 

"Possibly—  "  Patterson  began  in  a  hesitant  voice. 
A  slight  uneasiness  marked  his  manner. 

"Oh,  Frankie  can  keep  a  secret.  It's  all  in  the 
family." 

"But  perhaps  she'll  not  care  about  knowing  the 
details." 

Frances  thought  she  perceived  not  only  uneasiness 
but  a  shadow  of  apprehension  in  her  fiance's  eyes.  His 
intuitions  were  more  acute  than  Jack's;  was  he  fearful 
of  the  effects  of  the  disclosure  upon  her?  Well,  she 
was  determined  more  than  ever  to  know,  if  such  were 
the  case. 

"Of  course  I'll  say  nothing  about  it  to  any  one,"  she 
said,  impatiently.  "Go  on,  Jack." 

Her  brother  was  still  radiant,  still  atingle  and  aglow 
with  the  liquor  he  had  drunk  and  the  food  he  had  eaten 
and  the  exultation  of  his  accomplishment.  He  leaned 
forward  smiling,  speaking  in  a  lowered  voice. 

"I  framed  the  scheme  to  get  the  timber,"  he  said, 
impressively.  "While  I  lay  up  there  in  Doc  Cryder's 
hospital  with  nothing  to  do  but  think,  I  figured  it  out. 
We'd  have  been  waiting  for  that  gang  of  Kettle  Creek 
outlaws  to  be  selling  yet  if  I  hadn't.  It  was  Pinney's 
trying  to  form  a  company  and  to  borrow  money  from 
Emmons's  bank,  together  with  the  knowledge  that  the 
timber-owners  would  never  dispose  of  their  land  at  a 
reasonable  price,  that  gave  me  the  notion.  With  these 
facts  I  saw  how  we  could  work  it.  So  one  day  when 
Wagner  dropped  in 

"I  remember,"  Frances  interrupted,  quickly.  "It 
was  the  day  I  went  fishing  with  Doctor  Cryder.  You 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  335 

asked  me  to  step  away  from  your  bed  as  you  had  confi- 
dential business  to  discuss  with  Mr.  Wagner." 

"That's  the  time." 

"Go  on." 

"It  began  then,"  he  continued.  "When  Wagner 
heard  me  out,  he  left  and  went  up  to  Spokane  in  a  day 
or  two  and  put  up  the  plan  to  the  main  office,  where  he 
obtained  approval.  Then  he  saw  Emmons,  who  would 
never  have  made  the  loan  if  we  hadn't  agreed  to  take 
the  notes  off  his  hands." 

Frances  was  beginning  to  understand.  Her  hands 
shut  tightly  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"It  was  all  arranged,  then,  when  Mr.  Emmons  and 
Schuyler  came  up  to  the  hospital  ostensibly  to  fish." 

"Yes.  Emmons  really  came  to  see  Pinney  and  to 
give  him  a  letter  agreeing  that  his  bank  would  make  the 
loan." 

In  her  breast  Frances's  heart  started  an  angry 
pummelling.  But  outwardly  she  maintained  her  smiling 
mood. 

"How  skillfully  the  plan  was  prepared  and  manipu- 
lated!" she  breathed.  She  turned  to  Patterson. 

"And  you  knew  all  about  it  from  the  beginning." 

"Well,  I— it  might  be  said— still " 

"Sure  thing  he  knew,"  said  Jack,  lighting  a  cigarette. 
"We  had  Emmons  require  his  appointment  as  the 
Kettle  Creek  Lumber  Association's  attorney  and  fiscal 
agent  because  he  was  conversant  with  the  scheme. 
There's  only  one  way  to  handle  a  deal  like  that — tie  it 
up  right  all  around,  make  it  a  cinch."  The  speaker  was 
too  pleased  with  himself  to  observe  either  Patterson's 


336  CRYDER 

embarrassment  or  the  enigmatical  gleam  in  his  sister's 
eyes.  He  went  on:  "With  Schuyler  in  where  he  was 
we  didn't  have  to  worry  anything  would  break  loose. 
We  knew  the  Kettle  Creekers'  bonds  wouldn't  be  sold." 

"But  Schuyler  tried  to  sell  them?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Not  very  hard,"  was  the  answer.  "Did  you, 
Patterson?"  Again  he  laughed.  "And  the  market 
hitting  the  toboggan  just  when  it  did  made  things 
right." 

Patterson  was  visibly  perturbed.  He  drew  forth  his 
handkerchief,  wiped  his  brow,  and  at  Jack's  last  sentence 
broke  in: 

"Don't  mind  his  joking,  my  dear.  I  really  made 
every  possible  effort  to  dispose  of  the  securities,  I  assure 
you." 

"But  you  were  actually  working  in  the  Hedley 
company's  interest?"  she  demanded,  in  a  hard  voice. 

"No.  You  must  believe  me.  I  was  particular 
.  j> 

"You  knew  of  this  plan  to  ruin  the  other  company." 

"My  dear  Frances,  let  me  explain.  Both  companies 
were  my  clients,  which  is  permissible  in  legal  practice, 
and  I  was  careful  to  give  to  each  the  service  which  my 
situation  required." 

"But  you  were  a  party  to  the  scheme  to  defeat  the 
Kettle  Creek  company." 

"Not  a  party;  I  merely  had  a  knowledge  of  the  plan." 
He  moistened  his  lips  by  a  swallow  of  water.  "Pro- 
fessionally, my  position  has  been  perfectly  correct." 

"You  feel  that  you  betrayed  no  trust?" 

Jack  leaned  suddenly  toward  Frances. 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  337 

"Say,  what's  got  into  your  head  all  at  once?"  he 
questioned,  scowling. 

"Do  you  consider  your  action  honourable?"  Fran- 
ces addressed  the  attorney  insistently,  ignoring  her 
brother.  "Does  a  man  of  honour  who's  in  a  place  of 

trust  pretend  one  thing  while  treacherously Oh,  this 

is  horrible!  Both  of  you  in  it!  Deliberately  scheming 
to  defraud  those  poor  ignorant  people,  setting  a  trap  for 
them  to  walk  into  that  a  great  company  might  profit!" 

Jack  seized  her  arm  in  a  crushing  grip. 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  he  hissed.  "And  hush.  You're 
talking  too  loud.  People  are  beginning  to  look  round 
and  listen.  For  God's  sake  be  sensible  and  don't  make 
a  scene!" 

Frances  drew  free  from  his  grasp.  She  sat  rigid, 
trying  to  regain  her  self-control,  endeavouring  to  ap- 
pear natural.  Groups  at  near-by  tables  resumed  their 
conversation.  Patterson  was  gazing  at  her  with  a 
worried  face,  while  seeking  in  his  mind  for  a  plausible 
explanation  that  would  allay  her  suspicion  and  satisfy 
her  questions. 

Jack  was  staring  at  her,  red  with  wrath,  his  elbows 
on  the  cloth,  and  puffing  furiously  at  his  cigarette. 

"What  are  you  making  all  this  fuss  about?"  he  de- 
manded at  last. 

"I  feel  ill;  I  wish  to  go  home,"  she  replied,  in  a 
suffocated  voice. 

"When  you've  apologized  to  Schuyler." 

"I've  nothing  to  apologize  for." 

"After  your  rudeness?  After  the  things  you  said? 
I  think  you  have,"  he  said,  with  a  significant  air. 


338  CRYDER 

Frances  did  not  immediately  answer.  She  sat  with 
teeth  clenched  and  cheeks  pallid  looking  past  both  men 
toward  the  river.  They  had  sold  their  honour.  The 
great  god  of  industry  had  taken  them  and  chained  them 
and  corrupted  their  souls.  One,  her  fiance,  a  man  of 
naturally  fine  sensibilities,  it  had  warped  and  twisted 
through  an  inordinate  desire  for  position,  until  he  had 
betrayed  the  faith  of  a  hundred  simple  timber-owners; 
the  other,  her  brother,  once  a  fine,  clean  fellow,  energetic 
and  if  with  a  fault,  one  of  over-loyalty,  it  had  gradually 
transformed  into  a  hard,  mercenary,  heartless  tool, 
without  ideals,  coarsened  in  spirit,  restless  and  malevo- 
lent of  mind.  Out  of  Jack's  brain  had  risen  the  evil 
conception  which  had  resulted  in  the  ruin  of  scores  of 
families,  in  the  embitterment  of  lives,  in  Nick's  death, 
in  the  criminal  night  attack  upon  the  sawmill,  and  in 
the  terrific  wave  of  hatred  which  had  overwhelmed 
Cryder.  The  instigator  of  it  all,  her  brother! 

Slowly  she  began  to  work  off  her  engagement  ring. 
When  it  was  free  from  her  finger,  she  placed  it  beside 
Patterson's  coffee-cup.  For  an  instant  her  eyes  met 
the  man's,  which  were  silently  beseeching  her;  but  her 
chill  face  gave  him  no  hope. 

"If  you  haven't  time  to  take  me  home,  Jack,  I'll 
go  alone,"  said  she. 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  shall  now,"  he  answered,  sullenly. 
"You're  acting  like  a  child."  Turning  to  Patterson 
he  added:  "This  is  just  a  case  of  nerves.  I've  noticed 
lately  she  hasn't  been  herself.  When  I  get  back  from 
Spokane  I'll  straighten  matters  out  and  everything  will 
be  right." 


THE  HEARTS  OF  MEN  339 

Frances  had  risen.  She  looked  down  at  the  pair  with 
a  feeling  of  aloofness,  with  a  calm  which  all  at  once  had 
replaced  her  agitated  feelings.  Jack  continued  to  talk 
to  the  attorney,  apologizing,  explaining;  and  the 
lawyer  with  his  gaze  on  the  ring  lying  on  the  cloth  kept 
nodding  a  mournful  assent  to  each  reiterated  amends  or 
assertion.  How  incredibly  stupid  they  were  not  to 
recognize  the  chasm  which  divided  her  from  them! 
She  moved  slowly  away  across  the  veranda  to  the  door- 
way and  passing  through  the  building  went  out  into  the 
night. 

A  coolness  from  the  mountains  was  descending.  On 
the  air  was  the  scent  of  alfalfa  from  fields  adjoining  the 
club  grounds.  Overhead  a  host  of  stars  gleamed  and 
quivered.  Only  behind  her  was  there  sound,  the  mur- 
mur of  voices  and  the  lively  strains  of  a  victrola  from  the 
dancing  room  where  some  young  couples  already  had 
begun  to  move  to  a  fox  trot.  From  the  building  and 
from  the  parked  automobiles  near  by  came  a  yellow 
glow  of  light.  All  that  at  the  moment  was  hateful;  she 
was  glad  to  be  out  in  the  open,  in  the  darkness,  in  the 
gratefully  cool  scented  night.  The  distance  to  town 
was  only  two  miles;  she  would  walk  it;  she  wanted 
to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts,  alone  under  the  stars 
and  alone  with  the  wind  blowing  softly  from  the 
hills. 

Something  had  happened  within  her — a  decision,  a 
change,  a  breaking  apart  from  things  she  held  to  be 
wrong;  a  clearing  of  her  vision  and  an  irrevocable  judg- 
ment of  her  mind;  a  return  to  old  ideals,  to  the  loved 
penates.  With  evil  there  could  be  no  compromise  or 


34o  CRYDER 

fellowship,  no  matter  what  the  degree  or  form.  By 
that  she  should  live  if  she  went  in  rags.  Her  soul 
should  be  her  own  if  she  went  bare  of  feet.  She  should 
never  bow  down  to  the  Moloch  of  steel  and  gold  that 
sprawled  over  the  land. 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE  HOLOCAUST 


ON  AN  afternoon  early  in  October  Cryder  stood  be- 
fore the  hospital,  smoking  a  pipe  and  gazing  at  a  woman 
leading  a  child  by  the  hand,  a  small  boy  with  misshapen 
head,  who  had  just  come  into  view  on  the  ridge,  having 
ascended  by  the  forest  path.  A  wagon  bearing  a  load 
of  his  effects — trunks,  cases  of  instruments  and  dis- 
mantled paraphernalia  from  the  operating  room,  and 
boxes  of  medical  volumes  had  just  creaked  off  out  of 
sight  behind  the  buildings  on  its  way  to  Maronville. 
Inside  the  hospital  and  the  cabins  the  rest  of  the  furni- 
ture, books,  medicines,  cooking  utensils,  and  supplies 
of  all  kinds  hitherto  necessary  for  the  conduct  of  his 
establishment  awaited  removal.  A  freighter  with  a 
six-horse  outfit,  living  in  Berger,  had  been  hired  by  the 
surgeon  to  haul  the  property  away.  Cryder  had  been 
packing  for  a  week;  everything  now  was  boxed  or  crated 
or  wrapped  in  burlap,  properly  labelled  with  his  name; 
and  he  himself  was  taking  his  departure  from  the  spot 
this  afternoon,  leaving  it  to  the  freighter  to  empty  the 
log  buildings  of  the  piles  of  goods  resting  within. 

For  the  inevitable  had  come  to  pass:  The  Hedley 
company  by  virtue  of  its  newly  acquired  title  to  the 

34i 


342  CRYDER 

timber  land  along  Kettle  Creek  had  given  notice  of 
eviction  to  the  dwellers  in  the  forest,  setting  this  as  the 
date  by  which  they  should  be  off  the  claims.  In  the 
course  they  should  follow  to  enforce  their  rights  one  was 
left  in  no  uncertainty;  the  sheriff  had  posted  individual 
notices  on  the  cabin  of  each  property  owner;  and  it  was 
known  that  if  necessary  he  should  be  prepared  to  expel 
the  settlers  by  overwhelming  force. 

In  a  spirit  of  sullen  submission,  the  exodus  of  the 
Kettle  Creekers  from  the  forest  to  a  camping-place 
beside  the  river  proceeded  in  ramshackle  wagons  heaped 
with  wretched  furniture  and  family  belongings  driven 
by  the  men  and  in  troups  of  women  and  children  bear- 
ing bundles.  No  concerted  movement,  but  a  silent 
departure  of  individuals  and  families,  it  yet  amounted 
to  a  common  migration,  a  dejected  hegira  of  a  clan,  with 
a  day-by-day  addition  of  new  groups  to  the  camp  and 
a  raising  of  more  shelters  of  canvas  or  of  tattered  blank- 
ets, until  at  this  dawn  the  whole  number  of  Kettle 
Creekers  were  assembled  in  the  valley  by  the  river 
listlessly  considering  the  future  and  wondering  whither 
they  should  go;  a  colony  suddenly  uprooted  from  their 
wood  and  rendered  homeless,  wrathful,  bitter. 

Of  all  the  dwellers  in  the  forest  Cryder  now  alone  had 
not  yet  departed,  save,  it  seemed,  the  woman,  Nell 
Boggs,  emerging  from  the  trees  and  undergrowth  with 
her  idiot  child  fast  clasped  by  the  hand. 

The  surgeon  smoked  and  watched  her  advance. 

"Well,  Doc,  I've  come  to  see  you,"  she  greeted. 

Evidently  her  hair  had  been  long  uncombed;  vagrant 
locks  fell  over  her  ears  and  before  her  face.  She  was 


THE  HOLOCAUST  343 

breathing  hurriedly  from  the  exertion  of  the  climb  and 
a  flush  was  in  her  face.  Since  he  last  had  seen  her, 
which  was  some  months  as  she  had  been  cooking  for  a 
crew  of  miners  at  Porcupine  Hill,  she  had  grown  fat  and 
soft. 

"Sick,  Nell?     Or  is  it  the  boy?"  he  asked. 

"We  ain't  neither  of  us  sick,"  she  replied.  "I  came 
to  tell  you  that  you  can  take  Roscoe  to  the  place  for 
boys  like  him  you  used  to  talk  about." 

"Fine  time  to  come  now!"  he  grunted.  "Why 
didn't  you  let  me  know  before?" 

"I  just  come  down  from  Porcupine  this  week  and 
have  been  movin'  my  things  out  of  the  cabin." 

"From  the  way  you  used  to  talk  nothing  could  sepa- 
rate you  from  the  boy." 

"I  changed  my  mind." 

"You  take  him  back  to  camp  with  you  till  next 
week,"  he  rejoined.  "I  can't  attend  to  his  case  now. 
When  I'm  ready  for  him  I'll  let  you  know  and  you  can 
send  him  down  to  me  by  someone  coming  to  Maron- 
ville." 

An  irritated  and  sulky  expression  for  an  instant 
hardened  Nell's  flabby  face. 

"You  just  got  to  take  him  now.  Anton  said  I  had 
to  be  rid  of  him  right  away.  And  I'm  goin'  back  to 
Porcupine  to-day." 

Cryder  puffed  at  his  pipe. 

"There's  an  'Anton'  in  it,  eh?  Who  is  he?  Miner? 
One  of  the  Polaks  there,  I  suppose.  Been  living  with 
him?" 

"We're  goin'  to  be  married  as  soon  as  I  get  back," 


344  CRYDER 

she  answered.  "He's  been  after  me  for  a  long  time 
to  marry  him,  as  he  says  I'm  such  a  fine  cook.  No, 
I  ain't  been  livin'  with  him  and  it  ain't  any  of  your 
business  if  I  had.  He  says  he  won't  marry  me  if  I 
keep  Roscoe,  so  I  brought  the  kid  here.  Anyway,  I  'm 
gettin'  tired  of  him;  he's  so  pesky  dumb." 

"Leave  him  with  someone  at  the  camp  till  I  can 
have  him  brought  down  to  me,"  said  Cryder. 

"They  won't  take  him." 

"You'll  have  to  wait  there  then  yourself." 

A  blaze  of  anger  shot  from  her  eyes. 

"Well,  I  just  won't,"  she  cried.  "I  ain't  goin'  to 
put  ofF  my  gettin'  married.  If  you  don't  take  him  I'll 
leave  him  somewhere  in  the  woods  and  if  he  dies  it'll 
be  your  fault,  Doc  Cryder.  You've  done  so  much 
wickedness  to  Kettle  Creekers,  gettin'  'em  to  go  into  the 
'sociation  last  summer  when  they  didn't  want  to  and 
then  sellin'  'em  out,  bein'  in  Wagner's  pay  all  the  time, 
I  guess  you'd  just  enjoy  seein'  Roscoe  starve  in  the 
woods  or  beholdin'  him  swallowed  by  wild  beasts.  A 
sorry  day  for  Kettle  Creek  when  you  come!  That's 
what  everyone  says  and  that's  what  everyone  believes. 
Maybe  I  ain't  so  smart  as  some,  but  I  'm  thankin'  God 
I  wasn't  born  with  all  the  bad  in  my  heart  that's  in 
them  of  some  what  are  smarter.  If  you  can  sleep  easy 
nights  after  all  the  harm  you  done,  then  you  ain't  got  no 
soul  at  all — that's  what  they  all  say.  A  reg'lar  Judas 
you  are,  they  say.  And  now  you're  just  keepin'  on  in 
your  meanness  by  not  takin'  Roscoe  and  preventin'  me 
from  bein'  married.  Well,  you  ain't  goin'  to  do  it.  I 
brought  him  here  and  I'm  goin'  to  leave  him  here,  and 


THE  HOLOCAUST  345 

if  you  don't  mind  him  and  let  him  die,  you'll  just  be  a 
murderer.  A  poor  little  boy  like  him!"  She  stooped 
and  embraced  the  empty-faced  child,  kissed  him,  and 
rose  again,  wiping  her  eyes.  "You  can  keep  him  and 
put  him  in  the  Home  like  you  always  said  without 
no  trouble  to  you.  Anyway,  I'm  goin'  to  leave  him 
and  be  married." 

"Married,  huh!"  the  surgeon  exclaimed,  in  disgust. 
"And  breed  more  idiots." 

But  already  she  had  turned  and  was  hurrying  away. 
By  his  knee  stood  the  small  boy,  in  a  soiled  blue  check- 
ered shirt  and  a  pair  of  little  pants,  hatless,  barefoot, 
with  the  pathetically  submissive  air  of  the  imbecile. 

H 

About  half-past  three  the  surgeon,  carrying  his 
leather  medical  case  and  leading  the  boy  by  the  hand, 
bade  his  hospital  farewell.  He  had  made  a  final  circuit 
of  the  buildings,  gazing  at  their  rough  logs  with  affec- 
tion and  feeling  the  poignant  emotions  one  suffers  on 
abandoning  a  spot  that  has  been  a  home.  But  it  was 
of  no  use  to  delay  his  departure  and  he  was  desirous  of 
being  away  before  four  o'clock,  the  hour  set  by  the 
Hedley  company  for  evacuation  by  occupants.  By 
telephone  he  had  explained  to  Wagner  about  his  goods 
and  received  permission  to  leave  them  till  they  could 
be  hauled  off  by  the  freighter. 

He  set  his  feet  on  the  path  leading  down  into  the 
forest  for  the  last  time.  Three  nights  previous  his 
automobile  had  vanished,  stolen  from  where  it  stood 
behind  the  hospital,  evidently  pushed  without  noise 


346  CRYDER 

along  the  ridge  and  down  into  the  wood  where  it  might 
be  started  out  of  earshot.  He  could  only  guess  who 
had  seized  it.  Now  he  must  walk  to  Berger  and  go 
to  Maronville  by  stage. 

In  the  theft  he  perceived  a  desire  on  the  part  of  some 
embittered  Kettle  Creeker  to  work  him  a  last  injury, 
but  it  did  not  matter  greatly  in  the  sum  total  of  his 
misfortunes.  A  catastrophe  had  overwhelmed  this 
poor  ignorant  people  of  the  wood.  Some  wrathful  and 
dishonest  fellow  had  thought  to  salvage  something 
from  the  wreckage  at  Cryder's  expense;  and,  who  knew, 
perhaps  the  man  with  the  burden  of  a  family  to  trans- 
port to  an  abode  in  a  distant  and  as  yet  undetermined 
spot  needed  it  worse  than  he.  No,  it  did  not  matter. 
He  had  two  legs  to  carry  him.  And  in  this,  his  final 
advance  among  the  great  noble  trees  and  out  of  the  for- 
est, he  was  rather  glad  that  it  should  be  a  tramp  on  foot. 

He  wanted  no  quick  progress.  As  long  as  possible 
he  desired  the  companionship  of  the  stately  trunks, 
the  blessed  roof  of  the  boughs,  the  sweet  incense  of 
pines  which  filled  the  air.  Never  until  now  had  these 
strong  and  lofty  trees  seemed  so  dear  or  so  much  a  part 
of  himself,  with  their  roots  wrapped  about  his  heart. 
He  should  miss  them.  He  should  miss,  too,  the  music 
of  Kettle  Creek  among  its  stones  and  logs.  He  should 
miss  the  soothing  peace  when,  weary,  he  cast  himself  on 
the  bank  of  the  stream  beside  some  giant  conifer. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  seated  himself  on  a  log, 
placing  the  child  beside  him  and  gazing  off  through  the 
open  spaces  into  which  sifted  slanting  beams  of  sun- 
light. Another  year  and  Wagner's  axes  would  be  mak- 


THE  HOLOCAUST  347 

ing  a  deep  inroad  into  this  magnificent  body  of  timber; 
another  decade  and  there  would  be  no  timber  at  all 
except  small  stuff,  no  forest,  only  a  hollow  in  the  hills 
lying  naked  to  the  sun.  The  forest  was  doomed.  The 
blind  and  insensate  lumbermen  were  doing  the  same 
all  over  the  timbered  hills  wherever  they  could  get  their 
clutch  on  a  mountain,  on  a  ridge,  on  a  valley.  The 
masters  said  Cut!  and  the  axes  rang  that  dollars  might 
continue  to  flow  into  their  ever-swelling  money-bags. 
Why  were  the  men  who  directed  the  policy  of  the  great 
Heidenstreit  corporation  so  utterly  indurated  to  reason  ? 
Why  could  they  not  see  they  were  spending  the  nation's 
timber  capital?  Was  there  not  one  single  brain  among 
them  possessing  vision? 

He  discovered  the  small  boy  posted  at  his  side  re- 
garding him  with  a  wistful  gaze.  The  wistfulness 
meant  nothing,  of  course;  or  in  that  poor  misshapen 
head  was  there  some  feeble,  struggling  thought  seeking 
expression?  Cryder  had  seen  idiots  aplenty.  He 
could  view  them  with  pity  but  with  proper  understand- 
ing of  their  blighted  brains.  They  did  not  distress  him. 
But  now,  strangely,  he  felt  for  the  little  fellow  on 
the  log  a  profound  and  fervid  compassion  stir  in  his 
breast. 

Presently  the  boy's  eyes  lifted  from  him  to  the 
boughs,  where  they  dwelt  as  if  in  contemplation  and 
wonder.  After  a  time  he  looked  at  Cryder  and  uttered 
an  animal-like  sound.  The  surgeon  took  from  his  poc- 
ket a  piece  of  buttered  bread  folded  in  the  form  of  a 
sandwich  and  wrapped  in  a  fragment  of  newspaper; 
tearing  off  the  paper  he  gave  the  bread  to  the  youngster, 


348  CRYDER 

who  began  to  eat  ravenously.  Doubtless  in  her  de- 
sire to  be  rid  of  him  the  mether  had  forgotten  to  give 
him  food  at  noon.  Cryder  now  perceived  for  the  first 
time  that  the  child  appeared  fatigued  as  well  as  hungry; 
and  he  surmised  the  woman  had  walked  the  boy  the 
whole  five  miles  from  Kettle  Creek  camp  by  the  river. 

On  his  large  face  with  its  thick  brows,  deep-set  eyes, 
ponderous  nose,  and  prominent  firm  lips  came  a  shadow 
of  wrath.  He  knew  better  than  to  allow  what  a  slack, 
muddle-brained  wench  like  Nell  Boggs  did  to  give  him 
concern,  but  nevertheless  the  brutality  of  the  act  filled 
him  with  anger.  The  trustfulness,  the  defenselessness 
of  children  always  evoked  in  him  a  spring  of  tenderness; 
their  small  faces  brightening  under  kind  or  merry  words 
were  like  flowers  to  him;  their  fairy  spirits  glowing  at 
elders'  sympathy  were  like  candle-flames.  Violence  to 
them  by  grown  people  made  his  blood  boil.  To  the 
mites  hampered  by  physical  defects,  the  little  cripples 
with  twisted  limbs  or  bodies,  the  mutes,  the  sightless,  the 
sick,  the  weak  of  mind,  especial  gentleness  was  deserving; 
and  when  he  beheld  them  suffering  from  the  indifference 
or  acerbity  of  elders,  not  infrequent  among  the  ignorant, 
he  furiously  desired  the  good  old  whipping-post.  And 
now  in  Nell  Boggs 's  dragging  this  poor  helpless  child  all 
the  long  miles  from  the  river  camp  to  the  hospital  he 
perceived  the  ruthlessness  of  a  stupid  and  selfish  nature 
in  a  degree  that  made  him  hot. 

The  boy  apathetically  licked  his  lips  and  sat  quiet. 
He  had  eaten  all  the  bread  and  butter.  For  the  moment 
his  hunger  was  appeased. 

Cryder  rose  and  they  again  went  forward  on  the  path. 


THE  HOLOCAUST  349 

At  the  nearer  trees  as  he  passed  he  gazed  in  a  last  re- 
gard of  their  brown  scaly  trunks,  so  often  seen,  so  famil- 
iar, so  like  silent  constant  friends,  so  like  tall-standing 
and  loyal  kinsmen.  And  there,  too,  on  either  side,  were 
the  well-known  clumps  of  bushes,  coverts  for  rabbit  or 
grouse.  For  eleven  years  he  had  walked  this  path.  In 
his  mind,  but  never  more  in  the  flesh,  he  often  would 
tread  it  again,  recalling  the  individual  pines,  the  bough- 
arched  arcades  filled  with  bluish  light,  the  protruding 
mossy  boulders,  the  needle-littered  ground,  the  tiny 
seedling  pines  no  bigger  than  his  finger  upthrust  through 
the  odorous  mat,  the  shrubs,  the  young  saplings,  the 
cedar  copse  at  one  spot  on  the  right  and  the  fallen 
dead  trees  rotting  into  powder — all  this  footpath  wind- 
ing through  the  forest  to  the  clearing  at  Kettle. 

At  a  rivulet  that  seeped  down  a  narrow  bed  of  sand 
and  crossed  the  path  the  idiot  boy  once  more  uttered 
a  squawk.  Cryder  regarded  him.  Then  he  set  down 
his  medical  case  and  brought  from  a  pocket  a  drinking- 
cup.  Kneeling,  he  scooped  with  his  palm  a  hollow  in 
the  bottom  of  the  rill,  which  he  allowed  to  fill  and 
clear.  Into  the  diminutive  pool  he  dipped  the  cup. 
Afterward  he  lifted  it  brimming  to  the  small  boy's 
mouth.  His  charge  drank  feverishly.  A  second  time 
the  surgeon  gave  him  water.  When  the  boy's  thirst 
was  satisfied  Cryder  rinsed  the  cup  and  himself 
drank. 

A  gurgle  in  the  throat  of  the  youngster  caused  him 
to  look  about  as  he  finished.  Thereupon  the  little 
fellow  placed  his  hands  on  Cryder 's  knee  and  leaned 
against  his  leg  and  looked  up  into  his  face,  water  drip- 


350  CRYDER 

ping  from  his  chin  and  his  open  mouth.  Cryder  con- 
sidered him,  surprised,  interested. 

Gratitude!  That's  what  the  little  fellow  felt  and 
strove  to  express — gratitude,  by  heavens! 

The  man's  heart  quivered.  He  had  given  years  of 
labour  to  Kettle  Creek  and  it  had  returned  hate  and 
obloquy.  But  here  was  a  voluntary  and  touching 
gift  of  thankfulness,  small  but  wonderful. 

in 

At  Kettle  he  was  surprised  to  see  Joe  Streeter  stand- 
ing before  the  deserted  store,  gazing  intently  at  the 
road  leading  from  the  river.  Of  Streeter  he  had  seen 
little  or  nothing  since  the  attack  on  the  Hedley  plant; 
and  Cryder  had  supposed  him  now  gone  with  other 
Kettle  Creekers. 

" Thought  you  had  pulled  out  before  this,  Doc," 
he  greeted,  when  the  surgeon  joined  him. 

"I  thought  the  same  about  you,  Joe,"  was  the  reply. 
"I'm  on  the  march  now,  however." 

Streeter  made  no  inquiry  as  to  the  absence  of  Cry- 
der's  car,  for  which  reason  the  other  suspected  that 
he  might  know  something  of  its  disappearance.  Singu- 
larly the  fellow,  in  spite  of  a  naturally  malevolent  dis- 
position and  rancorous  temper,  had  been  one  of  the 
few  who  had  taken  no  stock  in  the  common  belief  of  the 
surgeon's  betrayal  of  the  association.  He  scoffed  at 
the  story;  he  said  that  he  knew  Cryder  was  square  and 
that  was  enough  for  him;  that  that  boob  of  a  lawyer 
was  crooked,  of  course — all  lawyers  were;  and  that  the 
Kettle  Creekers  would  have  been  busted  anyway  by 


THE  HOLOCAUST  351 

the  capitalists,  if  not  one  time  then  another.  They 
owned  all  the  money  in  the  country,  and  the  courts, 
and  the  legislatures,  and  the  people,  and  could  do 
what  they  pleased.  Until  the  proletariat  rose  and 
wiped  them  out  as  had  been  done  in  Russia  it  would  be 
just  the  same.  The  I.  W.  W.  would  start  things  one 
of  these  days.  Dynamite  and  torches  and  bullets 
and  a  river  of  blood,  that  was  the  only  cure.  He  hoped 
Kettle  Creekers  would  see  it  now — and  in  the  dis- 
orderly camp  by  the  river  he  was  not  without  converts 
to  his  desperate  social  doctrine. 

"What  you  doing  with  the  kid?"  he  questioned. 

"Nell  brought  him  to  me  this  afternoon  to  put  in 
the  state  institution  for  feeble  minded.  She's  going  to 
marry  some  'hunkie'  at  Porcupine." 

"Well,  the  state  ought  to  look  after  kids  like  that. 
After  all  kids,  like  in  Russia  now,"  Streeter  announced. 
He  gave  the  child  a  thoughtful  scrutiny,  while  he 
munched  the  quid  in  his  cheek.  "Never  knew  whether 
that  kid  was  mine  or  not.  Nell  used  to  say  it  was, 
but  she  told  others  the  same.  Didn't  know  herself, 
I  reckon.  And  she's  marryin',  eh?"  He  exhibited 
his  yellow  teeth  in  a  mirthless  grin.  "I  guess  that 
don't  fit  in  with  your  ideas  o'  breedin',  Doc." 

"As  long  as  our  marriage  laws  are  what  they  are, 
that  sort  of  thing's  what  we  can  expect.  Going  out 
now,  Joe?" 

"Nope."  Streeter  cast  a  glance  toward  the  road 
which  he  previously  had  been  watching.  "Not  quite 
ready  yet.  What's  the  time?  My  watch  has 
stopped."  Cryder  looked  at  his  timepiece. 


352  CRYDER 

"Nearly  four  o'clock." 

"Then  suppose  you  amble  along."  He  gazed  at 
the  surgeon  with  a  steady,  unblinking,  inscrutable  look. 
"If  you  ain't  here,  you  won't  know  nothing.  See?" 

To  this  the  surgeon  made  no  response.  He  glanced 
round  at  the  buildings,  at  the  forest  surrounding  the 
clearing,  and  finally  back  at  Streeter,  whom  he  con- 
templated in  silence.  The  man's  presence  here  in 
this  place  and  the  profound  stillness  of  the  wood  all  at 
once  seemed  a  portent  of  evil.  This  was  not  by  acci- 
dent that  the  fellow  waited  at  the  store;  some  deviltry 
was  on  foot. 

"Joe,  I  don't  know  what  you're  up  to,"  Cryder  said, 
"but  I  can  surmise  that  it's  nothing  good.  I  warn 
you,  one  of  these  days  you're  going  to  slip." 

"I  kin  look  after  myself,"  Streeter  growled. 

"I  suppose  it's  no  use  for  me  to  say  more." 

"Not  a  bit.  And  don't  you  think  you're  goin'  to 
interfere  now.  Beat  it  and  beat  it  quick,  I'm  tellin' 
you."  He  waved  toward  the  south.  "I'd  hate  to 
harm  you,  Doc,  but  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  you  if 
you  stick  a  finger  in  my  business." 

The  aspect  of  the  speaker's  face  revealed  that  he 
would  not  halt  at  half-way  measures.  Cryder  swung 
the  idiot  boy  upon  his  shoulder. 

"All  right,  Joe,"  said  he. 

Carrying  his  medicine  case  and  bearing  the  boy 
aloft  he  set  ofF.  He  could  not  guess  on  what  particular 
villainy  Streeter  was  bent  except  that  it  would  be  di- 
rected at  the  force  of  men  arriving  from  Maronville  to 
take  possession  of  the  property;  nor  determine  whether 


THE  HOLOCAUST  353 

the  fellow  would  act  alone  or  with  accomplices  at 
present  out  of  sight,  equally  reckless,  equally  vindic- 
tive, equally  revengeful.  With  a  heavy  heart  he 
tramped  forward  out  of  the  clearing  into  the  forest 
road,  casting  a  last  look  backward  as  he  entered  among 
the  trees.  Streeter  no  longer  was  in  sight.  To  all  ap- 
pearance Kettle  was  lifeless  and  abandoned. 

Cryder  went  but  a  little  way  before  halting.  He  set 
down  his  case  and  lowered  the  child  to  his  feet.  Anx- 
ieties pressed  thick  upon  him.  Of  the  fierce  hate  of 
the  Kettle  Creekers  for  the  Hedley  company,  fanned 
by  the  latter's  triumph  and  arbitrary  order  of  ex- 
pulsion, he  knew  only  too  well;  and  it  seemed  now  about 
to  culminate  in  some  wild  act  of  the  more  lawless  men. 
With  Streeter  it  would  be  useless  to  argue  or  plead. 
With  the  men  travelling  here  to  see  that  the  order  had 
been  carried  out  it  likewise  would  be  futile  to  ask  for- 
bearance or  delay.  Two  human  forces  would  collide 
in  this  little  spot  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  in  a  shock 
of  terrible  passion. 

His  thoughts  would  not  flow.  In  this  emergency  when 
he  needed  all  his  quickness  of  brain  and  astuteness  of 
invention  his  mind  moved  but  sluggishly,  as  moves 
a  current  laden  with  alluvium.  He  was  inexplicably 
tired,  incapable  of  response  to  the  suggestion  of  im- 
pending tragedy.  Inspiration  was  dead  in  him.  It 
was  as  if  inexorable  facts  at  last  had  borne  him  down 
and  drained  his  spirit  and  left  him  empty,  without  re- 
source and  without  command  of  his  will. 

As  he  stood  knitting  his  brows  in  perplexity,  an  auto- 
mobile lurched  into  view  round  a  bend  in  the  road  a 


354  CRYDER 

short  distance  in  front,  followed  by  a  second  car. 
Both,  he  perceived,  carried  men.  Rifle  barrels  pro- 
truded from  the  sides  of  the  machines  in  different  po- 
sitions of  careless  possession.  Altogether  there  were 
twelve  or  fifteen  men  in  the  party. 

Cryder  hastily  seized  his  black  case  and  led  the  child 
out  of  their  track.  He  waited,  watching  the  first  car 
approach  and  endeavouring  to  distinguish  its  occupants, 
but  found  his  view  cut  off  by  the  windshield  which 
flashed  and  danced  as  it  smote  successive  bars  of  slant- 
ing sunlight.  At  all  hazards  he  must  halt  and  warn  the 
men.  As  the  car  drew  near  he  stepped  into  the  road- 
way lifting  a  hand,  and  then  he  saw  that  the  boy,  the 
senseless  child,  automatically  had  accompanied  him. 
He  motioned  it  back;  but  the  small  imbecile  simply 
stared  at  him  agape.  Finally,  with  the  car  showing  no 
diminishment  of  speed,  he  swept  up  the  child  and  sprang 
aside. 

The  cursed  brigands  would  have  run  him  down! 
One  face  among  those  in  the  automobile  he  had  recog- 
nized, Jack  Huff's,  indifferent,  coldly  observant  of  him 
in  his  danger,  scornful,  arrogant.  The  meaning  of  the 
act  crashed  into  Cryder 's  brain  in  a  lightning  flash  of 
understanding.  This  was  now  a  Hedley  company 
road,  Hedley  company  ground;  Kettle  Creekers  were 
trespassers,  Cryder  was  a  trespasser;  and  young  Huff 
was  teaching  him  the  fact.  He  proposed  to  impress  it 
on  him  if  necessary  by  running  the  wheels  over  Cryder 's 
body. 

The  second  car  whirled  by.  In  it  he  glimpsed  Wag- 
ner and  the  county  sheriff  among  the  other  men. 


THE  HOLOCAUST  355 

Once  again  the  surgeon  by  an  instinctive  impulse  flung 
up  his  hand,  but  as  the  automobile  passed  on  let  it  fall, 
a  feeling  of  futility  pervading  his  breast.  He  was  but 
a  straw,  brushed  aside.  The  forces  that  through  all 
the  years  had  been  developing  in  antagonism  now  were 
not  to  be  stayed  by  any  gesture  or  cry  of  his.  For  this 
day,  for  this  hour  all  the  human  passions  of  the  actors 
had  been  rising,  all  the  deeds  been  accumulating,  all  the 
events  been  building.  Out  of  the  lives  of  those  in- 
volved, from  a  seed  of  dishonesty  and  evil  this  thing 
had  budded  and  swelled  and  leafed  and  flowered  in  a 
black  blossom  named  Destiny. 

Cryder  set  the  child  on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree.  Beside  him  he  placed  the  medicine  case.  Then 
he  cast  a  hurried  glance  toward  the  clearing.  The 
automobiles  had  arrived  before  the  deserted  store, 
halted,  and  the  occupants  were  alighting,  stretching 
themselves,  indolently  gazing  round  the  open  space,  and 
making  themselves  at  home.  He  perceived  Wagner 
separate  himself  from  the  others  and  walk  away  from 
the  cars,  moving  with  slow  and  planted  steps  while 
searching  the  ground  as  if  seeking  the  spot  where  a 
year  before  on  the  night  of  his  visit  the  bonfire  had 
burned;  as  if  indeed  at  this  moment  he  desired  the 
satisfaction  of  treading  the  place  of  his  rout  and  ig- 
nominy. « 

The  surgeon  waited  no  longer.  The  party  was  in 
danger  and  the  affront  he  had  received  must  not  weigh 
in  the  scales.  Even  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life  he  must 
give  them  warning.  He  began  to  run  toward  the  clearing. 
On  the  carpet  of  pine  needles  his  boot  soles  slipped  and 


356  CRYDER 

refused  footing.  He  turned  out  into  the  road,  taking 
deep  breath  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  figures 
before  the  store.  In  what  form  the  peril  lay  he  could 
not  divine,  but  whatever  its  nature  it  must  be  averted. 
At  last  he  ran  forth  from  the  forest  into  the  clearing. 

IV 

From  the  black  thicket  of  jack-pine  east  of  the  clear- 
ing suddenly  burst  a  crackle  of  rifle  fire,  the  sharp  stac- 
cato of  an  irregular  volley,  half-a-dozen  reports  in  a 
vicious  and  startling  rattle  of  explosions.  The  men 
about  the  two  automobiles,  for  an  instant  frozen  in 
surprise,  made  no  response,  standing  rigid,  staring;  then 
as  if  released  by  a  spring  they  began  to  seize  their  guns 
which  leaned  against  the  cars  and  to  jump  behind  the 
latter  or  to  dart  into  the  vacated  store. 

One  of  the  force  had  pitched  forward  upon  his  face 
and  lay  in  the  dust  of  the  street  with  his  hat  fallen  from 
his  head.  Another  had  sunk  to  a  sitting  position  on 
the  ground  beside  the  running-board  of  one  of  the  cars, 
grasping  at  his  stomach  with  both  hands,  doubled  over 
as  if  with  cramps  and  uttering  angry  groans.  A  third, 
clutching  his  left  knee,  limped  after  others  into  the  log 
structure. 

At  the  discharge  Wagner  had  halted.  For  a  few 
seconds  he  remained  planted  upon  his  feet  with  the 
same  solidity  that  always  had  characterized  his  erect 
posture,  after  which  his  knees  weakened  and  yielded 
and  slowly,  as  if  with  an  air  of  deliberate  forethought, 
he  fell  full  length.  Not  a  cry,  not  a  sound  escaped  his 
lips;  no  convulsive  jerking  of  his  limbs  followed  his 


THE  HOLOCAUST  357 

toppling  over.  He  had  gone  down  like  a  log.  When 
Cryder  reached  him  he  was  dead.  Perforations,  three 
ragged  holes,  showed  in  the  back  of  his  coat,  and  when 
the  kneeling  surgeon  turned  him  over  the  man's  breast 
was  a  welter  of  blood;  the  concealed  woodsmen  who  had 
directed  their  fire  at  him,  unerring  shots  all,  had  planted 
their  bullets  squarely  in  his  heart. 

The  silence  which  had  ensued  upon  the  deadly  volley 
was  now  broken  by  a  resumption  of  fighting  among 
those  in  the  thicket  and  the  sheriff's  men  hiding  behind 
the  cars  or  in  the  store.  The  firing  was  without  order, 
singly,  a  persistent  but  scattered  exchange  of  shots,  on 
the  one  side  from  the  jack-pines  and  on  the  other  from 
the  automobile  bodies  and  the  store  windows  and  door. 
The  wounded  man  continued  to  double  over  and  groan, 
until  struck  in  the  head  he  rolled  down  and  was  still. 
In  the  open  space  between  the  contestants  Wagner's 
body  lay  outstretched  with  Cryder  kneeling  over  it,  gaz- 
ing at  the  dead  man's  crimsoned  shirt. 

All  at  once  he  flung  up  a  hand. 

"Stop  firing,  you  fools!"  he  yelled.  "You've  killed 
him — you've  done  enough!  Stop  this  murder!" 

A  blow  like  that  from  a  club  smote  his  raised  hand, 
knocking  it  backward  and  wrenching  his  arm  sharply. 
He  lowered  the  latter  and  stared  in  astonishment  at  his 
shattered  hand,  which  felt  as  if  paralyzed  and  down  the 
fingers  of  which  blood  was  streaming,  dripping  from  the 
ends  upon  the  green  grass  blades.  Either  a  stray  shot 
or  a  bullet  aimed  by  design  had  smashed  its  way  through 
flesh  and  bones  from  the  base  of  the  little  finger  to  that 
of  the  thumb  and  out. 


358  CRYDER 

His  wrath  burst  all  bounds. 

"You  crazy  idiots!"  he  shouted,  springing  up. 
"You've  ruined  my  operating  hand!  Of  all  outrageous 
tricks — 

Streeter's  voice  came  to  him  shrill  and  penetrating: 

"Beat  it,  Doc.     This  is  your  last  chance." 

Like  a  douche  of  snow  water  the  strident  warning 
cooled  the  surgeon's  rage  and  brought  him  full  reali- 
zation of  the  perilous  place  where  he  stood.  One  could 
not  reason  with  madmen.  Yes,  there  were  madmen  on 
both  sides,  insane  with  a  lust  to  kill. 

He  swung  round  and  ran  through  the  grass  and  among 
the  stumps  toward  the  place  where  he  had  left  the 
idiot  child  and  his  medicine  case.  He  went  at  top 
speed,  fearing  now  that  one  of  the  maniacs  in  the  thicket 
or  in  the  store  would  shoot  him  in  the  back.  Behind 
him  the  popping  of  the  guns  persisted  in  sputters  of 
sound  that  quickened  and  diminished. 

He  gained  the  wood.  Breathing  heavily  and  op- 
pressed by  the  savage  and  senseless  fight  in  the  clearing, 
by  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  his  right  hand, 
he  dropped  to  a  walk,  striding  forward  among  the  trees, 
until  he  came  to  the  spot  where  sat  the  child  barkening 
to  the  rifle  shots  and  their  reverberations  in  the  hills. 
Cryder  went  down  on  his  knees  and  opened  his  medicine 
case  with  his  left  hand,  awkwardly  holding  the  leather 
bag  firmly  on  the  smooth  needles  under  one  leg. 

The  wounded  hand  was  helpless,  still  bleeding  though 
beginning  to  puff,  while  a  sharp  throb  now  asserted 
itself  among  the  lacerated  muscles  when  he  moved  the 
arm.  He  stripped  off  his  necktie  and  knotted  it  in  a 


THE  HOLOCAUST  359 

loop  which  he  slipped  over  his  right  wrist.  This  done 
he  inserted  a  lead  pencil  and  twisted  the  silken  band, 
and  by  use  of  this  rude  tourniquet  checked  the  flow  of 
blood.  By  pressing  an  end  of  the  pencil  under  the  scarf 
about  his  wrist  he  kept  the  ligature  tight. 

An  examination  of  the  injured  hand  increased  his  fore- 
bodings. What  if  a  Dupuytren  contracture  resulted 
and  he  were  left  with  a  withered,  useless  hook  instead  of 
a  flexible  member?  If  the  cursed  scoundrels  back  yon- 
der had  permanently  incapacitated  his  hand But 

at  the  possibility  of  such  a  catastrophe  he  shuddered. 
He  did  not  allow  his  mind  to  dwell  on  it;  he  refused  in- 
deed to  consider  such  a  result.  By  an  effort  of  will  he 
pulled  himself  together,  calmed  his  perturbed  thoughts, 
and  getting  the  case  under  his  arm  led  the  boy  through 
the  wood  till  they  reached  the  creek. 

In  the  clearing  the  conflict  gave  evidence  of  an 
intercession  if  not  a  stop.  The  shots  were  fewer 
and  more  spasmodic,  with  longer  intervals  of  silence. 
Whether  this  indicated  the  withdrawal  of  one  of  the 
parties  or  merely  was  an  interlude  to  a  fiercer  outburst, 
Cryder  was  unable  to  determine.  In  the  savage  and 
primitive  warfare  being  conducted  Streeter  and  his 
companions,  whoever  they  were,  had  a  handicap  in 
numbers  but  a  compensating  advantage  in  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  forest — of  the  underbrush,  the  copses, 
the  ravines,  and  the  creek.  It  would  be  the  height  of 
rashness  for  the  Hedley  force  to  seek  to  beat  them  out, 
thought  he,  a  bloody  and  almost  hopeless  task. 

At  the  stream  he  washed  his  broken  hand,  laving  it  in 
the  clear  cool  water  and  paddling  it  about  until  it  was 


360  CRYDER 

clean  of  blood.  The  application  of  the  tourniquet  had 
effected  a  compression  of  the  arteries  in  the  lower  fore- 
arm so  that  bleeding  had  stopped.  There  was  little  he 
could  do  to  repair  the  broken  bones  and  his  first  measure 
must  be  to  prevent  infection;  later  an  X-ray  photograph 
would  disclose  the  extent  and  full  nature  of  the  damage. 

From  his  case  he  extracted  a  bottle  of  iodine  and  as 
completely  as  possible  saturated  the  wound.  His  hand 
was  quite  covered  by  the  blackish-saffron  drug  and  the 
torn  nerves  set  up  a  frightful  anguish,  fiery,  torturing,  as 
the  disinfectant  permeated  the  flesh.  To  Cryder  this  was 
a  matter  of  no  importance.  He  had  the  will  to  endure, 
the  strength  to  suffer,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  dangers 
of  septicemia  to  support  the  pain.  If  blood-poisoning 
started  in  a  wound  like  this,  his  whole  arm  would 
speedily  be  involved  and  have  to  come  off.  When  he 
had  emptied  the  vial  he  flung  it  away  and  began  to 
bandage  the  hand  with  rolls  of  gauze,  tightly,  with  skill 
despite  the  fact  that  he  worked  with  his  left  hand; 
as  high  up  his  fore-arm  as  the  tourniquet,  layer  after 
layer,  until  his  right  hand  was  completely  swathed  and 
padded,  having  the  appearance  of  being  encased  in  a 
great  white  mitt. 

He  rose  from  his  knees  and  inspected  the  job,  turning 
the  hand  over  and  back.  Rough  surgery  this,  for  a  fact, 
but  the  dressing  would  hold.  Slowly,  a  little  at  a  time, 
taking  minutes  in  the  process,  he  lessened  the  tightness 
of  the  tourniquet,  permitting  a  gradual  resumption  of 
the  flow  of  blood  through  his  wrist.  In  the  end  he  al- 
together ceased  the  pressure  and  drew  off  the  looped 
necktie. 


THE  HOLOCAUST  361 

So  absorbed  had  he  been  in  this  self-treatment  that 
he  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  strife  in  the  clearing,  but 
now  remembered  it.  Though  he  could  see  nothing  of 
the  spot,  he  stood  gazing  thither,  speculating  on  what 
might  be  going  on.  The  firing  had  ceased.  A  pro- 
found and  breathless  quiet  now  commanded  the  forest. 
In  the  bough-vaulted  spaces  the  sunshine  sifted  through 
in  golden  oblique  spears  wherein  tiny  insects  danced  or 
pine  needles  twirled  earthward. 

Cryder  let  his  case  lie  after  dropping  into  his  pockets 
such  of  its  contents  as  he  could  bear;  it  would  have  to 
be  abandoned,  for  he  must  carry  the  fatigued  child. 
Raising  the  boy  to  his  left  shoulder  he  set  out  on  his 
tramp,  slanting  away  from  the  creek  until  he  gained  the 
road.  Along  this  he  proceeded,  along  the  well-known 
and  beloved  way  leading  out  of  the  forest  and  the 
valley.  In  his  ears  was  the  musical  rush  of  Kettle 
Creek.  About  him  were  the  silent  and  solemn  pines 
which  he  was  leaving  forever.  The  hour  was  nearing 
five  and  already  a  greenish  dusk  was  thickening  in  the 
deeper  hollows. 

When  he  had  gone  forward  a  mile,  he  once  more 
turned  asid$  to  the  stream.  He  was  thirsty,  and  the 
throbbing  pain  in  his  bandaged  hand  had  increased. 
First  giving  the  boy  a  drink,  he  lay  down  on  a  flat  rock 
and  put  his  lips  to  the  gushing  water  and  drank  deeply, 
for  his  wound  seemed  to  have  left  his  whole  body 
parched. 

But  before  he  went  on  he  sat  for  a  time.  Somewhere 
near  a  cricket  was  chirping  and  from  a  bush  a  green 
worm  had  suspended  itself  by  a  thread.  A  mountain 


362  CRYDER 

woodpecker  flew  before  him  over  a  pool,  vanishing 
among  a  clump  of  larches.  A  coolness  rose  from  the 
surface  of  the  creek.  Glints  and  shimmers  played 
among  the  bushes  and  boulders  where  the  water  spouted 
through  small  channels  or  whirled  in  eddies.  It  was  all 
peaceful,  all  infinitely  steeped  in  a  spirit  of  serenity.  It 
ignored  the  petty  passions  of  men.  It  bespoke  the  calm 
and  salutary  progression  of  natural  forces  in  their  way 
and  season,  in  their  particular  degree  and  direction,  in 
their  special  accomplishment  and  in  their  inevitable 
evolution. 

Into  the  soul  of  the  surgeon  entered  something  of 
that  calm.  The  green  shoot  pushing  aside  the  earth  by 
his  foot  and  uncurling  its  pale  green  head,  tender,  easily 
to  be  crushed,  contained  an  impulse  of  life  and  a 
manifestation  of  purpose  from  some  obscure  source  as 
surely  as  that  in  the  breast  of  man;  germination  was 
persistent,  growth  undeviating,  fruition  certain  on  the 
broad  land  expanses  of  the  earth,  perhaps  checked  in 
one  spot,  perhaps  retarded  in  another,  but  in  the  large 
continued  as  by  a  supreme  dictate.  Individual  plants 
suffered  injury  or  were  destroyed  before  their  season, 
and  not  only  individuals  but  whole  companies,  yet  in 
the  earth's  husbandry  magnificent,  in  the  swinging 
cycles  of  the  years  and  the  centuries,  there  was  an 
ascension  and  noble  fulfilment  of  design.  Was  it  not 
so  with  the  human  race,  with  mankind?  For  all  the 
accidents  and  misfortunes  amid  which  it  moved,  despite 
suffering  and  misery  by  individuals  and  the  seeming 
checks  and  driftings  and  decay  of  peoples,  yet  was  it  not 
so?  Was  not  the  race  mounting,  slowly,  painfully,  in 


THE  HOLOCAUST  363 

suffocating  vapours  of  passion,  with  myopic  eyes  and 
dragging  feet  and  groping  hands,  in  turmoil  and  travail, 
but  nevertheless  rising  to  the  hilltops,  to  the  table- 
land where  its  eyes  would  be  cleared  and  its  soul  up- 
lifted? 

So,  as  he  pondered,  it  seemed  to  Cryder.  The  faith 
dying  in  him  once  more  felt  an  assuring  comfort,  as  a 
withering  tree  feels  in  the  parched  earth  cooling  drops 
of  moisture  touch  its  roots. 

Perhaps  some  of  his  acts  had  worked  for  the  good  of 
others;  his  efforts  been  not  wholly  vain  even  when  in  all 
appearance  most  fatally  misdirected.  At  any  rate,  he 
had  had  no  selfish  motive,  God  knew!  That,  if  nothing 
else,  redeemed  his  tragic  life.  Into  his  mind  floated  old 
and  precious  words,  "  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the 
Lord  ?  or  who  shall  stand  in  his  holy  place  ?  He  that 
hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart;  who  hath  not  lifted 
up  his  soul  unto  vanity,  nor  sworn  deceitfully." 

He  got  upon  his  feet. 

Come  what  might,  by  those  principles  he  should  con- 
tinue to  stand,  act,  hold,  and  live.  .  . 

The  sounds  of  explosions  startled  him.  But  at  once 
he  recognized  them  as  detonations  not  of  rifles  but  of 
automobile  exhausts.  The  cars  were  coming  toward 
him  along  the  road  from  the  clearing  and  presently  he 
distinguished  them  flitting  through  the  trees,  the  first 
evidently  bearing  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  the  second  the 
sheriff  and  his  deputies,  who  crammed  the  tonneau  and 
filled  the  running-board  on  either  side.  The  machines 
swept  by  and  presently  were  out  of  sight. 

It  was  a  retreat.     With  the  withdrawal  of  Joe  Stree- 


364  CRYDER 

ter's  force,  Cryder  inferred,  Huff  and  the  sheriff  had 
availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to  take  up  the 
slain  and  to  depart,  perceiving  the  futility  of  an  attempt 
to  overcome  the  lurking  enemy.  But  their  departure 
would  be  only  temporary;  chagrin  and  rage  must  burn  in 
their  breasts;  and  they  would  return  with  an  over- 
whelming force  to  crush  the  culprits,  sweep  the  forest 
clean  of  them,  and  take  possession. 

Cryder  decided  to  start  on  his  way.  He  discovered 
that  the  little  boy  had  lain  down  on  the  earth  and  now 
was  sleeping,  so  the  surgeon  knelt  and  slipping  his  left 
arm  under  the  child  swung  him  up  over  his  shoulder. 

When  he  had  regained  the  road  a  faint  smell  of  wood 
smoke  greeted  his  nostrils,  like  supper  smoke  from  a 
cabin  chimney  drifting  among  the  pines.  Strange. 
And  now  as  he  looked  back  along  the  road  he  perceived 
a  thin  bluish  haze  underneath  the  boughs.  He  went 
forward  and  once  more  halted  to  stare  over  his  shoulder, 
while  a  vague  uneasiness  grew  in  his  mind.  On  a  sud- 
den he  uttered  a  startled  exclamation,  for  the  smoke  in 
the  trees  had  thickened  even  as  he  looked  and  its  smell 
was  stronger.  A  steady,  murmurous  sound,  new  and 
ominous  in  the  forest,  came  to  his  ears.  A  bright  glow- 
ing ember  fell  through  the  air  upon  the  dusty  road 
directly  before  him  and  he  looked  down  at  it  in  in- 
credulous dismay. 

Coming  to  himself,  he  set  off  along  the  road  with  long, 
swinging  strides,  carrying  on  his  shoulder  the  limp, 
sleeping  idiot  boy.  The  moment  when  he  must  break 
into  a  run  had  not  yet  arrived  and  for  that  he  must 
husband  his  strength.  This  was  not  sufficient,  he 


THE  HOLOCAUST  365 

knew,  to  scale  one  or  the  other  of  the  valley  ridges  if  he 
left  the  road,  as  he  was  weakened  by  his  wound  and 
loss  of  blood. 

Overhead  he  beheld  the  sky  white  with  smoke 
illuminated  with  a  glow.  At  the  end  of  the  second  mile 
the  air  was  growing  hot  and  he  was  breathing  heavily. 

He  glimpsed  two  men  off  among  the  trees  at  his  left 
carrying  rifles  and  running  forward.  Before  they 
passed  from  sight  they  stopped.  One  with  a  sweep 
of  his  foot  gathered  a  heap  of  pine  needles,  by  which 
he  knelt  for  a  few  seconds.  Cryder  saw  that  the  man 
was  Joe  Streeter  and  his  companion  Barney  Noble. 
Streeter  leapt  up  and  they  ran  on,  disappearing.  A 
stream  of  smoke  was  funnelling  upward  from  the  sheaf 
of  dry  needles. 

Cryder  strode  on.  In  the  wood  behind  a  pinkish 
light  was  driving  away  the  dusk  in  the  forest  arcades 
and  the  murmur  had  swelled  to  a  dull  muted  roar. 
Birds  were  flying  past.  A  deer  broke  from  the  under- 
brush by  the  creek  and  bounded  out  of  view.  Through 
the  lofty  treetops  went  a  sighing  of  wind,  and  a  billow 
of  smoke  rolled  along  the  road,  obscuring  the  light. 

Where  the  stream  rushed  close  beside  the  roadway  the 
surgeon  shook  the  boy  awake,  dipped  himself  a  drink, 
and  lifted  the  filled  cup  to  the  child's  lips.  Then 
he  wet  his  handkerchief  and  spread  it  over  the  small 
face  and  again  lifted  the  little  body  to  his  shoulder. 
He  hastened  on  southward.  Soon  the  sweat  was 
running  on  his  cheeks  and  neck;  the  smoke  smarted  in 
his  lungs;  his  heart  was  pumping  hard,  his  head  ached, 
and  sharp,  stabbing  pains  from  time  to  time  shot  up  his 


366  CRYDER 

right  arm,  while  a  reddish  stain  was  slowly  growing 
on  the  bandage  about  his  injured  hand.  And  he  had 
not  yet  gone  half  the  distance  to  come  out  of  the  timber. 

He  passed  a  fire  burning  briskly  at  the  left  of  the  road. 
Its  blaze  scorched  his  cheek  when  he  went  by.  The 
crimson  light  steadily  increased  behind  him  and  the  air 
was  filled  with  a  sonorous  rushing  as  if  the  trees  were 
shaken  by  a  mighty  wind. 

All  the  animal  folk  of  the  valley  were  now  in  agitated 
flight.  Birds  fluttered  by.  A  porcupine  wallowed  from 
a  heap  of  stones  and  wriggled  off.  Chipmunks  flashed 
along  logs  and  were  gone.  Squirrels  raced  in  the  boughs 
overhead.  Deer  darted  past.  The  very  insects  were 
speeding  southward  before  the  wall  of  flame  roaring 
down  the  mountain  trough. 

Thus  had  the  forest  been  fired. 


A  column  of  white  smoke  ascending  from  behind  the 
low  mountains  north  of  the  Furness  River  had  caught 
the  eye  of  someone  in  the  evicted  settlers'  camp  and 
become  a  matter  of  general  interest  and  discussion. 
From  its  position  the  people  knew  it  rose  from  a  point 
on  Kettle  Creek.  As  it  rapidly  grew  denser  the  excite- 
ment increased,  until  at  last  there  was  a  sudden  hurry- 
ing forward  of  everyone  except  babes  and  the  aged,  the 
mob  of  them  legging  it  for  the  hill  east  of  the  ravine 
whence  Kettle  Creek  issued  into  the  greater  valley  of 
the  Furness. 

First  the  boys  and  men  reached  the  hilltop,  then 
came  the  women  and  girls  and  children  climbing  up  in 


THE  HOLOCAUST  367 

scattered  groups,  until  the  whole  company,  two  hun- 
dred and  more,  lined  the  ridge,  where  they  could  gaze 
northward  over  the  forest  toward  the  fire. 

A  bluish  fog  lay  above  the  wood  between  the  parallel 
ramparts  of  mountains  confining  the  valley,  out  of  the 
middle  of  which  rose  huge  clouds  of  white  smoke  that 
hid  the  peaks  of  the  Three  Sisters  at  the  head  of  the 
creek.  They  saw  that  the  conflagration  was  then 
three  or  four  miles  distant.  On  the  clouds  was  a  ruby 
tinge,  cast  upward  by  the  line  of  dancing  fire;  and  it 
was  apparent  that  the  timber  was  burning  fiercely  and 
the  flames  travelling  fast.  All  the  heart  of  the  forest  was 
like  a  furnace.  Sheets  of  fire  seemed  to  sail  up  and 
expire  in  the  air.  Immense  billows  of  sparks  and 
embers  unfurled  and  spread  in  the  sky.  Nearer  to  the 
watchers  than  the  great  fire  were  other  fires,  as  indicated 
by  new  and  slender  columns  of  smoke  rising  from  the 
trees,  which  quickly  grew  in  size.  It  was  only  a  matter 
of  time,  however,  when  these  should  be  engulfed  in  the 
sea  of  flame  sweeping  southward. 

They  observed  a  six-horse  freight  wagon  emerge  from 
the  forest  into  the  cleared  part  of  the  valley  just  before 
them  where  the  winter  before  the  timber  had  been 
felled  and  logged  out  for  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber 
Association's  sawmill.  A  woman  sat  beside  the  driver, 
whose  whip  could  be  seen  swinging  and  whose  shouts 
rose  faintly  to  the  hilltop.  The  clearing  would  not 
escape  the  fury  of  the  fire,  for  in  it  were  small  pines  un- 
cut and  heaps  of  brush  never  burned  after  the  logging 
operations. 

Reaching  the  hill,  where  the  road   mounted  over 


368  CRYDER 

the  point  of  the  ridge  to  avoid  the  ravine,  the  horses 
dug  their  hoofs  into  the  hard  earth  and  strained  terrifi- 
cally at  their  load  under  continual  shouts,  until  finally 
they  made  the  ascent,  whereupon  they  stood  with  heav- 
ing flanks  and  slavering  mouths. 

Several  men  and  boys  from  the  crowd  above  ran 
down  to  the  place.  The  driver  was  looking  back  at 
the  burning  forest,  while  the  woman,  Nell  Boggs,  was 
climbing  down  over  a  wagon  wheel  to  the  ground. 

"Well,  it's  sure  burnin'  up,"  the  driver  remarked  to 
his  audience,  "with  the  blaze  comin'  this  way  fast. 
Smelled  the  smoke  first  about  a  mile  back.  Those 
fellows  I  passed  who  went  in  in  autos  better  be  lookin' 
to  themselves.  Doc  Cryder  was  in  there,  too,  at  the 
hospital  when  I  came  away  with  this  load  of  his  stuff, 
but  he's  probably  gone  out  over  the  ridge." 

A  man  spoke  to  Nell  Boggs. 

"Where's  the  kid?  Thought  you  had  him  with 
you?" 

Her  flaccid  cheeks  were  quivering  and  in  her  eyes  was 
a  hunted  look. 

"Left  him  with  a  woman  in  Berger,"  she  answered, 
hastily.  "Coin'  there  now  to  get  him  and  take  him 
with  me  to  Porcupine."  She  at  once  set  off  down  the 
slope  before  the  horses  toward  the  highway  in  the 
river  valley,  by  turns  running  and  walking. 

"Scared  of  the  fire,"  said  the  driver.  "She's  been 
nervous  ever  since  the  smoke  settled  among  the  trees. 
Well,  I  must  be  travelling  along  myself.  Want  to 
reach  the  Smith  ranch  before  dark."  He  looked  once 
more  over  his  shoulder  at  the  flames  and  smoke.  "It's 


THE  HOLOCAUST  369 

good-bye  woods,  I'm  thinkin'.  No  stoppin'  that,"  he 
concluded,  and  gathered  the  six  reins  into  his  hands. 

The  wagon  went  on  down  the  outer  hillside  with 
brakes  squealing  on  the  steep  pitches.  The  men  and 
boys  climbed  the  slope  again  to  where  the  rest  of  the 
Kettle  Creekers  stood. 

Five  minutes  later  two  automobiles  shot  out  of  the 
forest  and  across  the  clearing  and  up  the  ascent,  coming 
to  rest  where  the  freighter  had  stopped.  Men  alighted. 
But  the  first  motor  car,  in  which  the  occupants  of  the 
tonneau  were  curiously  slumped  down  as  if  asleep, 
presently  went  on,  descending  to  the  highway  along 
which  it  sped  toward  Maronville. 

The  men  left  came  climbing  up  to  the  crest  of  the 
ridge,  eight  of  them,  all  carrying  rifles.  In  the  lead 
were  the  sheriff  and  Jack  HufF. 

The  former  addressed  the  company  of  watchers. 

"Who  were  the  men  at  Kettle  when  we  went  in? 
You  people  know."  The  women  glanced  appre- 
hensively at  his  nickel  badge  and  then  at  one  another; 
the  men  munched  their  tobacco  stolidly.  "Speak  up, 
if  you  know  what's  best  for  you."  Still  there  was 
silence.  He  singled  out  the  horse-trader.  "  You  know, 
Hollister." 

"Nope." 

"Don't  lie  to  me,"  was  the  harsh  response. 

Hollister  leaned  forward,  his  head  drawn  down  be- 
tween his  hunched  shoulders,  and  looked  up  through  his 
eyelashes  with  his  big  mouth  shut  in  a  tight  smile. 

"We're  peaceable  folks,  Graham,"  said  he.  "But 
just  the  same  you  can't  bulldoze  us.  Are  you  looking 


370  CRYDER 

for  trouble?"  The  Kettle  Creek  men  began  to  edge 
closer  about  the  armed  party,  two  or  three  score  of 
them.  "Because  you'll  sure  get  it  if  you  start  any- 
thing with  us,"  Hollister  continued.  "And  your  guns 
don't  scare  us  none." 

The  sheriff  glanced  about  the  ring  of  Hollister's 
friends. 

"I'm  not  trying  to  bulldoze  you;  I  want  information," 
he  said,  firmly.  "The  names  of  the  fellows  who  hid 
in  the  brush  at  the  clearing  and  shot  some  of  our 
party." 

"Don't  know  who  was  there.     Who  was  shot?" 

"Five  men,  three  of  them  killed.  One  was  Wagner 
himself." 

"Wagner?" 

"Yes.  Some  of  your  scoundrels  are  going  to  swing 
for  this  day's  work." 

He  turned  away  as  a  deputy  pulled  his  arm  and 
pointed  at  the  forest  where  near  the  foot  of  the  ridge 
and  scarcely  half  a  mile  away  a  thin  smoke  had  begun 
to  float  upward  from  the  wood.  The  sheriff  and  his 
men  ran  northward  on  the  ridge.  They  disappeared 
in  a  hollow  and  came  into  sight  on  an  ascent  beyond  and 
broke  into  chase  when  through  the  thin  drifting 
smoke  they  beheld  on  another  height  in  front  three 
men  cross  over  eastward  and  drop  into  a  wooded 
gulch. 

Jack  Huff  had  remained. 

"Will  you  men  help  fight  this  fire?"  he  demanded. 
"I'll  pay  you  well." 

"Fight  your  own  fires,"  half  a  dozen  chorused. 


THE  HOLOCAUST  371 

"We've  got  to  stop  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "or  all  the 
timber  will  be  wiped  out." 

"Timber  stolen  from  us,  so  let  it  burn,"  said  Hollister, 
in  a  tone  of  finality. 

With  an  angry  face  Huff  glared  about  at  the  crowd. 
It  was  a  sin  for  men  to  stand  by  with  hands  in  pockets 
while  valuable  property  like  this  forest  went  up  in 
smoke.  But  there  they  stood,  grinning  at  him. 

"You're  a  fine  lot  of  curs,  you  are!"  he  grated  out. 
And  with  his  rifle  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  he  started 
away  in  the  direction  his  party  had  gone. 

The  smoke  was  beginning  to  blow  more  thickly  over 
the  ridge,  for  a  wind  was  rising.  Women  were  coughing 
and  children  rubbed  their  eyes.  Light  ashes  sifted 
down  through  the  air  from  the  white  gloom  darkening 
the  heavens,  in  which  the  low  western  sun  appeared  like 
a  copper  plate.  A  steady  sound  was  making  itself 
heard,  the  distant  roar  of  the  fire  coming  down  the 
valley. 

As  he  moved  northward  Jack  Huff  heard  it  more 
and  more  plainly,  while  a  corresponding  chagrin  and 
wrath  grew  in  his  heart.  The  wanton  destruction  of 
the  timber  coming  hard  on  the  successful  finish  of  his 
coup  was  a  crushing  blow;  and  he  realized  that  the 
fire's  sweep  of  the  wood  would  be  clean.  Before  he 
could  go  to  Berger  or  elsewhere  and  bring  a  force  of 
fire-fighters  the  whole  forest  would  be  burning.  All 
that  was  left  for  him  was  to  assist  the  sheriff  in  captur- 
ing the  dastards  who  had  committed  the  crime. 

The  smoke  rolling  over  the  ridge  made  it  impossible 
to  see  except  for  a  short  distance  in  any  direction.  Of 


CRYDER 

the  sheriff  and  his  deputies  he  neither  perceived  nor 
heard  anything.  However,  he  continued  to  go  forward 
along  the  slopes,  until  descending  into  a  wooded  hollow 
he  halted  to  listen. 

The  air  was  now  hot  and  sparks  were  flying  in  the 
smoke  blowing  about  him.  As  he  stood  trying  to  decide 
whether  to  go  forward  or  to  return  to  the  car  two  men 
burst  out  of  the  underbrush  in  front  of  him,  both 
carrying  guns.  Instantly  he  knew  them  for  enemies, 
for  one,  Joe  Streeter,  he  recognized. 

The  men  stopped  short,  Streeter  uttering  an  oath. 
His  companion,  Barney  Noble,  swung  up  his  rifle,  but 
Huff  was  the  quicker  to  shoot  and  the  banjo  player 
fell  dead  among  the  bushes.  Next  instant  Streeter's 
gun  sounded  and  Jack  Huff  pitched  forward  on  his  face. 

Streeter  went  on  up  the  ravine  in  the  cloud  of  smoke 
and  over  the  ridge  and  away. 

VI 

The  watchers  on  the  hill  had  been  driven  down  to  the 
highway  as  the  fire  came  near.  The  air  had  grown  hot; 
sparks  and  embers  and  even  blazing  brands  were  falling 
on  the  ridge,  and  the  smoke  was  too  thick  to  endure. 

They  knew  that  Kettle  had  gone,  that  Cryder's 
hospital  was  a  heap  of  ashes,  that  the  cabins  in  which 
they  so  long  had  lived  had  vanished,  and  that  the  flames 
rushing  both  northward  and  southward  in  the  valley 
would  make  the  holocaust  complete. 

As  dusk  settled  down  the  Kettle  Creekers  were  still 
observing  from  the  highway  what  could  be  seen  of  the 
conflagration  by  gazing  up  the  creek.  The  whole  wood 


THE  HOLOCAUST  373 

was  now  afire  and  over  the  Furness  River  valley  smoke 
was  drifting  in  a  fog.  A  group  of  women  stood  on  the 
bridge  gazing  upstream  at  the  ruddy  glow  of  the 
inferno,  while  on  the  road  to  the  north  the  men  were 
gathered  in  small  companies  where  children  hung  about, 
watching  and  discussing  the  fight  at  the  Kettle  clearing 
and  the  forest's  destruction. 

All  at  once  a  woman  on  the  bridge  uttered  a  startled 
word,  drawing  the  attention  of  her  companions  by 
pointing  a  finger  at  a  man  who  had  come  in  sight  round 
a  clump  of  bushes  in  a  bend  of  the  creek  just  before 
them.  The  man  carried  a  child  in  his  arms  and  his 
right  hand  was  wrapped  in  a  bloody  bandage;  he  was 
hatless,  coatless,  and  he  was  dripping  wet;  and  he  was 
bowed  with  his  chin  on  his  breast,  as  if  utterly  ex- 
hausted, staggering  ahead  in  the  water  one  step  at  a 
time,  planting  a  foot  among  the  stones  with  infinite 
effort  and  then  moving  forward  the  other  while  the 
current  rippled  about  his  legs. 

The  women  watched  that  laborious  advance  in  pro- 
found silence,  dumb  with  amazement.  For  the  man 
had  come  out  of  the  inferno.  They  could  now  hear  his 
whistling  breath  and  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  chest  as 
he  gasped.  He  did  not  look  up;  he  did  not  know  they 
were  there;  he  moved  with  but  one  blind  purpose,  they 
perceived,  and  that  to  maintain  his  slow  and  painful 
progress. 

A  murmur  of  awe  ran  among  the  women. 

"Doc  Cryder!"  someone  exclaimed. 

He  stopped  at  the  utterance.  With  a  hesitating  air 
he  turned  his  head  to  the  left  and  to  the  right  in  a  peer- 


374  CRYDER 

ing  look  and  at  last  lifted  his  face  to  gaze  upward  at  the 
women,  a  face  gray  and  hard  set  and  drawn  from  suffer- 
ing. Finally  he  staggered  to  the  bank,  up  which  he 
painfully  climbed  and  thence  gained  the  road. 

A  few  of  the  women  were  calling  excitedly  to  the 
Kettle  Creek  men,  who  hastened  toward  the  spot.  As 
they  came  up,  Cryder  let  the  child  he  bore,  Nell  Boggs's 
idiot  boy,  slide  to  the  ground.  He  stood  swaying 
dizzily  and  once  brushed  with  his  blood-soaked  band- 
aged hand  at  his  eyes  as  a  swirl  of  smoke  enveloped  him. 

Hollister  and  Arnold  Meek  went  to  him  to  give  him 
support. 

"I'm  sick,"  he  said,  thickly. 

"And  hurt,"  Arnold  Meek  rejoined.  "Come  to  our 
camp." 

By  an  effort  of  will  he  shook  the  old  man's  arm  from 
his  shoulder.  He  looked  slowly  about  at  the  crowd 
gathered  before  him,  his  big  body  swinging  unsteadily. 

"Not  on  your  life!"  he  said. 

"Now,  Doc,  now,  Doc "  Hollister  began. 

"  I  don't  want  help  from  people  whom  I  cared  for  for 
years  and  who  turned  against  me  at  the  first  lie,"  he 
went  on.  "Not  from  people  who  believe  me  a  traitor!" 

"Some  of  us  never  believed  that,"  said  Arnold  Meek. 

"A  few  of  you,  yes,  thank  God!  You,  Arnold,  you, 
Dave,  and  three  or  four  more.  But  the  rest — the 
others  who "  He  could  not  continue. 

"They'll  not  think  so  now  since  you  saved  this  child, 
for  if  your  heart  wasn't  right  you  would  never  have 
brought  him  out  of  that  raging  fire."  The  old  man 
faced  about  to  the  silent  crowd,  his  aspect  stern  and 


THE  HOLOCAUST  375 

his  very  white  beard  trembling  with  indignation.  "Till 
now  you  would  not  heed  me,"  he  exclaimed.  "But  at 
this  instant  I  bid  you  drive  from  your  breasts  the  wrong- 
ful hatred  you've  held  against  Doctor  Cryder,  who 
always  has  been  your  best  friend.  If  he  had  betrayed 
you  as  you  in  your  passion  thought,  would  he  have 
troubled  to  bear  through  the  flames  this  small  unfortu- 
nate, this  poor  benighted  little  fellow?  I  tell  you,  this 
child  is  a  witness  unto  his  righteousness!" 

Those  before  him,  listening  to  the  speaker's  solemn 
declaration  and  beholding  in  the  dusk  the  figure  of  the 
surgeon  with  the  idiot  child  clinging  to  his  knee,  both 
thrown  into  strong  relief  by  the  crimson  glare  in  the 
ravine  beyond  them,  were  stirred  by  an  unaccountable 
emotion. 

A  woman  took  a  step  forward  and  caught  Cryder's 
left  hand  in  hers,  while  her  look  strained  up  to  his  face. 

"You  used  to  be  good  to  us,  Doctor,"  she  quavered, 
"curin'  us  and  our  kids.  You  never  sold  us  out  like 
they  said,  did  you?  Just  tell  me  you  didn't  is  all  I  ask." 

Into  the  surgeon's  pale  knotted  countenance  came  a 
shadow  of  the  good  humour  they  all  used  to  know  in 
years  past. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  said  he.  "Of  course  not.  You  be- 
longed to  me.  Hadn't  I  been  giving  you  all  pills  and 
painkiller  for  ten  years  and  more  ? "  His  eyes  shut  and 
he  swayed  while  a  score  of  hands  reached  out  instinc- 
tively to  support  him.  "  I  only  wanted  to — to  help " 

His  last  strength  was  ebbing. 

"Look  out,  don't  let  him  fall!"  shouted  a  man. 

Cryder  by  an  effort  held  himself  upright. 


376  CRYDER 

"To  help  you,"  he  mumbled,  "but  you're  such : 

He  groped  blindly  in  the  air  with  his  red-stained 
bundle  of  a  hand. 

"Such  infernal  mo — morons — 

His  big  body  fell  forward  with  the  final  muttered 
word.  Before  he  struck  the  ground  he  was  caught  by 
the  eager  arms  of  men  and  women.  Kettle  Creek  folk 
had  again  taken  him  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  ECHO 


ON  A  Sunday  afternoon,  nearly  two  weeks  after 
the  tragical  occurrence  in  the  mountains,  Mr.  Williams 
was  walking  briskly  across  Columbia  Park  carrying  a 
large  bundle  loosely  tied  in  a  brown  paper  under  one  arm 
when  he  overtook  Frances  Huff.  She  had  felt  a  need  of 
fresh  air,  she  told  him,  and  the  tonic  of  exercise.  Mr. 
Williams  heartily  approved  of  this  course. 

"I've  been  concerned  about  your  health,"  said  he, 
as  they  moved  forward  together.  "Your  face  has 
become  a  little  thin  and  I  want  to  see  you  your  old  self 
again.  A  great  deal  of  walking  in  the  open  will  be  the 
very  thing  to  put  colour  in  your  cheeks  and  give  you 
an  appetite  and  make  you  sleep.  Besides,  it  will  keep 
you  from  thinking  too  much  about  what  has  happened." 

His  friendly  smile  and  tone  warmed  Frances's  heart. 
Mr.  Williams  had  proved  to  be  a  wonderful  helper  dur- 
ing the  dark  and  unhappy  days  through  which  she  had 
been  passing  There  had  been  other  kind  friends,  too, 
but  he  it  was  who  at  once  had  taken  upon  himself  the 
burden  of  her  cares.  He  had  superintended  the  re- 
covery of  Jack's  body;  he  had  arranged  the  funeral 
service;  he  had  managed  her  business  affairs  and  looked 

377 


378  CRYDER 

after  her  comfort;  and  even  now  he  was  aiding  her  in  the 
disposal  of  her  house  lease. 

"I  intended  to  run  around  this  evening  and  call,'* 
he  continued,  "but  I  can  tell  you  my  news  as  well  now. 
Yesterday  I  mentioned  to  Mr.  Black,  our  new  manager, 
who  wants  a  dwelling,  that  you  wished  to  sell  your 
house  furnishings  and  turn  over  the  lease  to  someone. 
He  was  interested  immediately.  The  only  question  in 
his  mind  is  whether  the  place  is  large  enough;  there  are 
four  of  them — his  wife,  himself,  and  two  children. 
Will  it  be  convenient  for  you  to  have  him  come  to- 
morrow noon  to  examine  the  house  and  its  contents?" 

"Entirely  convenient." 

"Then  I'll  tell  him  in  the  morning." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without 
such  a  friend  as  you,  Mr.  Williams,"  she  exclaimed, 
earnestly. 

He  answered  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "It's  very  little 
I've  done,  and  I  couldn't  have  done  less."  He  smiled 
at  her  again.  In  her  small  brown  turban  and  her 
straight  coat  with  black  fur  collar  and  cuffs  she  ap- 
peared slender  and  very  young  and  very  much  in  need 
of  friends.  That  was  his  thought.  He  believed  it  best, 
however,  to  keep  her  mind  moving  and  so  said,  "Do 
you  know  what  they  have  done  to  me?  I  was  apprised 
of  it  last  night  by  Mr.  Black.  Made  me  superintendent. 
I  kept  things  running  along,  you  know,  till  he  arrived 
and  the  'authorities  that  be'  gave  me  the  boost.  De- 
cided, evidently,  I  might  as  well  keep  my  hand  in." 

"That  makes  me  happy,"  Frances  said. 

"I'm  pleased,  naturally." 


THE  ECHO  379 

"The  company  suffered  a  very  serious  loss  farther 
up  the  river,  too,  I  was  told." 

"Yes.  The  fellows  who  fired  the  Kettle  Creek 
timber  went  on  up  to  other  tracts  of  ours  and  likewise 
set  them  ablaze.  They  had  stolen  Doctor  Cryder's 
automobile  and  hidden  it  somewhere  near  Berger  and 
used  it  to  escape  the  sheriff.  They  cut  the  wires  in 
several  places  on  the  road  so  no  alarm  could  be  given. 
That  same  night  half-a-dozen  forest  fires  were  raging 
and  our  men  fighting  them.  Joe  Streeter  was  cornered 
and  killed  next  day;  the  other  men  got  away.  But 
there  is  much  timber  left." 

"None  in  Kettle  Creek  valley,  though,  is  there?" 

"No.  Nothing  there  but  blackened  stumps,  some 
of  them  still  smouldering." 

"It  seems  as  if  somehow  all  the  destruction  and 
bloodshed  there  ought  to  have  been  avoided." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  he.  "When  one  looks  back  at  it,  one 
sees  the  game  isn't  worth  the  candle."  He  shook  his 
head  sadly.  After  a  time  he  remarked  in  a  lighter 
tone,  "You  can't  guess  what  I  have  in  this  package  and 
where  it's  going." 

"I  hear  a  scraping  and  rattling  in  the  paper." 

"Cedar  sprigs,"  said  he.  "I'm  on  my  way  to  the 
hospital  with  them  for  Doctor  Cryder,  as  he  told  me 
a  couple  of  evenings  ago  that  he  should  like  nothing 
better  than  to  smell  them.  He  has  had  a  lot  of  flowers 
in  his  room,  of  course,  but  he  craved  something  from  the 
woods;  and  early  this  morning  I  drove  up  the  valley  a 
short  distance  till  I  found  some  pines  and  cedars  in  a 
gulch.  People  have  changed  their  minds  about  Doc, 


38o  CRYDER 

though  some  of  us  didn't  have  to  change  them.  Even 
the  Kettle  Creekers  appear  to  respect  him  again;  at  any 
rate,  a  considerable  number  call  at  the  hospital  to  see 
him,  Martin  tells  me.  Something  happened  up  there 
in  their  camp  by  the  river  at  the  time  of  the  fire  which 
made  them  think  better  of  him.  He  was  caught  in  the 
forest  when  it  was  burning,  you  know." 

"He  was?     I  had  not  heard  that." 

"I've  told  you  none  of  the  particulars  of  what  oc- 
curred and  I  suppose  no  one  else  has,"  Williams  stated. 
"There  was  no  occasion  to  add  to  your  distress  by  re- 
lating details." 

"I  knew  Doctor  Cryder  had  suffered  a  hurt  and  was 
in  the  hospital,  that's  all.  His  hand,  wasn't  it?" 

"His  right  hand,  yes.  Quite  disabled.  He'll  never 
use  it  to  operate  with  again.  There  was  a  fight  in  the 
clearing  before  the  wood  burned  and  a  bullet  from  one 
of  the  fellows  in  the  underbrush  smashed  his  hand. 
He  was  weakened  by  loss  of  blood,  he  told  me,  and  be- 
sides had  a  child  to  carry,  a  small  imbecile  boy  whose 
mother  had  left  him  with  Cryder  that  day.  Well,  he 
didn't  say  anything  about  the  ordeal  he  had  getting  out 
of  the  forest  while  it  was  burning,  but  I  imagine  it  was 
pretty  bad.  When  he  came  out  something  happened 
among  the  Kettle  Creekers,  as  I  said,  to  change  their 
attitude  toward  him.  Perhaps  it  was  his  saving  the 
boy,  perhaps  for  other  reasons.  They  brought  him 
down  in  a  wagon  that  night  and  he  has  been  a  sick  man 
since,  but  he's  improving  nicely.  Sitting  up  the  last 
time  I  was  there.  All  the  Kettle  Creekers  have  come 
down,  too,  camping  by  the  river.  They  're  beginning  to 


THE  ECHO  381 

go  away,  to  scatter.  One  feels  rather  sorry  for  them, 
after  all.  And  it's  a  satisfaction  to  know  that  they 
along  with  others  feel  friendly  again  to  Cryder,  for  he 
certainly  suffered  under  a  lot  of  unjust  criticism." 

Frances  gazed  before  her  without  speaking.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  man  of  whom  Mr.  Williams  talked. 

"Would  you  mind  if  I  went  with  you  to  see  him?" 
she  asked,  at  last. 

"Why,  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  will  and  I'm  sure 
Doctor  Cryder  will  be  pleased." 

At  the  hospital  the  office  attendant  nodded  in  re- 
sponse to  Williams's  request  for  permission  to  see  Cryder 
and  bade  them  go  ahead.  The  room  was  at  the  west 
end  of  the  hallway  on  the  floor  above,  on  the  door  of 
which  Frances's  companion  lightly  knocked.  On  re- 
ceiving an  answer  they  went  in. 

Cryder  was  propped  up  in  bed.  To  Frances  his  eyes 
appeared  deeply  sunken  in  their  sockets  and  his  face 
pale  and  worn,  marked  by  several  recently  healed  burns, 
but  his  manner  was  calm  and  even  cheerful.  When  he 
perceived  her  his  countenance  brightened.  His  band- 
aged right  hand  remained  on  the  coverlet,  but  he 
reached  out  his  left  in  an  eager  greeting. 

"I  have  wondered  often  of  you  and  wished  I  might 
see  you,"  he  said.  "You  have  had  heavy  trouble  and 
sad  days.  When  I  thought  of  you,  my  heart  was  full." 

Frances  sank  into  the  seat  Mr.  Williams  placed 
for  her  by  the  bed,  still  clasping  Cryder 's  hand.  Her 
emotion  left  her  unable  to  speak,  while  tears  stood  in 
her  eyes  as  she  regarded  him. 

Mr.    Williams    untied    his    bundle.     He    gestured 


382  CRYDER 

toward  the  vases  filled  with  asters  and  yellow  chrysan- 
themums, saying,  "You  have  flowers;  I  imagined  you 
would  like  something  from  the  hills."  And  he  showed 
the  cedar  cuttings. 

"I  do.  How  good  they  smell!  Put  them  here  on 
the  bed  within  reach.  Ah,  Frances." 

She  was  crying  now,  her  handkerchief  held  to  her 
eyes,  and  her  head  bent. 

"I  can't  help  weeping,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "when  I 
remember  everything." 

Mr.  Williams  nodded  to  Cryder  in  comprehension 
of  her  grief  and  went  from  the  room,  gently  closing 
the  door  after  him. 

II 

Frances  was  on  her  knees  now  and  sobbing  against 
Cryder's  shoulder,  held  fast  by  his  left  arm.  Neither 
had  spoken  for  a  long  time.  On  the  man's  face  was  the 
light  of  an  ineffable  happiness. 

"We  need  each  other,"  he  said  at  last,  when  her 
crying  ceased. 

"I  knew  months  ago  that  I  loved  you.  I  think  in- 
deed that  I  loved  you  even  when  I  was  in  the  forest 
there — the  forest  that  is  gone,"  she  murmured.  "We 
both  have  suffered  hurts,  but  our  love  will  heal  them. 
Yes,  we  need  each  other." 

They  began  to  talk  of  the  future,  and  now  and  again 
as  they  talked  Frances  lightly  caressed  his  injured  hand. 
He  would  never  operate  again,  he  told  her;  that  knowl- 
edge at  first  had  nearly  broken  his  spirit.  He  thought 
he  was  done  for.  But  after  a  time  his  courage  had 


THE  ECHO  383 

returned  and  he  began  to  canvass  the  medical  field  for 
a  new  specialized  use  of  his  abilities.  And  he  believed 
he  had  hit  on  the  practice  to  which  he  could  best  adapt 
himself  in  his  maimed  condition — children.  He  loved 
the  little  ones.  He  liked  nothing  better  than  to  pull 
them  out  of  sickness  and  set  them  running  about  their 
play.  He  had  grown  enthusiastic  over  the  idea  of 
specializing  in  children's  diseases  and  was  confident 
that  with  a  fresh  start  somewhere,  possibly  in  the  East, 
where  he  had  professional  friends  to  help  him  at  the  out- 
set, he  would  make  a  go  of  it.  There  was  no  reason 
now  for  remaining  here;  and  many  for  not  remaining. 
Unless  she  desired  to  stay. 

"I  would  rather  not,"  she  answered. 

"We  should  be  happier  elsewhere,  I  think,"  he  said. 
She  had  informed  him  of  her  break  with  Patterson  late 
in  the  summer  and  of  the  coldness  which  existed  be- 
tween Jack  and  her  as  a  result,  even  to  the  day  of  his 
death;  and  he  had  understood.  "We  should  be  happier 
in  leaving  Maronville  and  this  region  and  in  living  our 
life  in  a  new  home.  I  don't  believe  I  could  stay  here 
knowing  my  forest  and  my  Kettle  Creekers  were  gone." 
A  whimsical  smile  glimmered  on  his  rugged  face. 
"They  have  forgiven  me,  you  know — at  least,  the  most 
of  them." 

'They  were  the  ones  to  be  forgiven,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing."     He  pondered 
for  a  moment.     "I  don't  remember  exactly  what  took 
place  to  restore  me  in  their  good  graces;  I'm  a  bit  hazy 
as  to  events  during  my  escape  from  the  burning  wood. 
But  whatever  it  was,  it  sufficed.     I'm  greatly  pleased 


384  CRYDER 

over  it,  too.  Possibly  down  in  their  hearts  they  never 
really  believed  I  had  betrayed  them.  A  few  of  them 
always  maintained  their  faith  in  me.  And  now  they'll 
be  wanderers,  though  I'm  not  sure  but  that  this  shaking 
them  out  of  the  timber  may  prove  the  very  best  thing 
for  them  in  the  end.  Transplanting  is  sometimes  as  good 
for  people  as  for  plants.  New  soil  means  new  energy." 

A  bar  of  sunshine  slanted  upon  the  cedar  sprigs  lying 
on  the  coverlet.  From  them  emanated  the  sweet  odour 
reminiscent  of  forests. 

"Your  hospital  burned  with  the  rest,  didn't  it?" 
Frances  asked.  She  had  wiped  her  eyes  and  was  grow- 
ing cheerful. 

"They  tell  me  so.  Fortunately  my  apparatus  had 
gone  out  on  a  wagon." 

"I  shall  always  remember  things  there  as  I  saw 
them,"  she  said.  "The  little  valley  must  be  quite 
desolate  now;  I  shouldn't  care  to  see  it." 

"No." 

"Do  you  remember  the  evening  when  we  came  home 
after  the  cloud-burst  and  saw  the  angry  light  reflected 
from  a  cloud  upon  the  forest?  I  said  it  was  as  if  the 
woods  were  burning.  That  was  the  same  afternoon  on 
which  Mr.  Wagner  came  to  see  Jack  and  the  plan  was 
made  to  secure  the  timber.  I've  thought  of  that  a 
number  of  times  during  the  past  two  weeks.  Could  it 
have  been  only  coincidence?" 

"Nothing  else." 

"I  suppose  so,  and  yet "  She  shook  her  head 

vigorously,  saying,  "No,  I'm  not  superstitious.  I 
know,  of  course,  that's  an  absurd  way  to  look  at  the 


THE  ECHO  385 

matter.  It's  always  easy  to  read  a  meaning  into  past 
events.  But  it  was  strange,  wasn't  it  ? " 

"So  strange  as  to  be  impressive,"  he  agreed.  "And 
yet  I  had  seen  the  same  thing  half-a-dozen  times  before 
during  my  residence  there." 

"That  shows  then  there  was  nothing  in  the  co- 
incidence." 

"Nothing." 

"Mr.  Williams  used  to  smile  at  my  imagination  when 
I  was  in  the  lumber  company  office,"  she  went  on.  "I 
told  him  the  echo  of  the  sawmill  whistle  thundering 
from  the  mountain  across  the  river  was  a  condemnation 
of  men's  ways." 

"Perhaps  it  was,"  said  he.  His  smile  was  one  of 
understanding. 

"Before  we  go  from  here  I'll  take  you  to  hear  it." 

"That  should  not  be  long.  Two  or  three  weeks 
more.  I'm  picking  up  my  strength  fast  now." 

Their  talk  once  more  ran  into  the  future,  away  from 
the  past  and  away  from  Maronville.  Frances  sat  on 
the  side  of  the  bed  holding  his  left  hand  in  both  of  hers. 
They  gazed  at  each  other  with  shining  eyes.  They 
were  designing  a  new  morrow  and  a  new  life,  lifting  their 
souls  above  the  fatality  of  the  old. 

in 

Late  on  a  November  day  Doctor  Cryder  and  Frances 
Huff  had  gone  for  a  walk  along  the  river  above  the 
town.  Coming  to  a  granite  boulder  half-buried  in  the 
earth,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  Hedley  Lumber! 
Company's  plant,  they  seated  themselves  on  it  to  rest 


386  CRYDER 

and  to  gaze  at  the  river.  Though  Cryder's  hand  was 
almost  healed,  he  still  wore  it  bandaged  and  Frances 
now  wrapped  it  in  a  yarn  scarf  she  carried,  for  the  air 
was  turning  sharp. 

This  was  their  last  day  in  Maronville.  On  the 
morrow  they  were  to  be  married  and  depart  for  the 
East. 

From  the  slender  black  smokestacks  of  the  sawmill 
a  thin  smoke  was  rising  and  near  the  base  of  these  wisps 
of  vapour  escaped  from  a  steam  pipe.  To  their  ears 
came  a  hum  of  noise,  lessened  by  distance,  in  which  they 
could  distinguish,  high-keyed,  the  intermittent  screech- 
ing of  saws  and  planers.  Work  was  proceeding  full- 
blast  in  the  sawmill.  Downstream  Cryder  and  Frances 
could  see  also  the  plant  of  the  Kettle  Creek  Lumber 
Association,  a  mile  below  them,  and  just  against  the 
town  over  which  a  red  sun  was  setting;  but  that  mill  was 
inactive,  lifeless. 

"The  trouble  isn't  with  industry  itself,  as  I  see  it," 
Cryder  said,  presently,  in  answer  to  some  words  of  his 
companion.  "  Modern  industry  is  an  inevitable  develop- 
ment of  the  age.  What's  wrong  is  that  it  has  come  to 
be  considered  the  chief  end  of  life." 

"I  see  that,"  Frances  returned.  "What,  however, 
can  be  done  about  it?" 

He  meditated  awhile. 

"We  need  a  renaissance  of  the  heart,"  he  stated, 
"for  we're  still  in  the  Dark  Ages  so  far  as  the  social 
spirit  is  concerned.  Our  minds  have  run  ahead  of  our 
souls.  And  what  is  the  result  ?  There's  selfishness  and 
greed  among  the  wealthy  and  passion  and  ignorance 


THE  ECHO  387 

among  the  poor;  and  between  these  millstones,  if  there 
be  not  a  change,  this  people  of  ours  some  day  will  be 
ground  fine." 

"And  that  means  education  is  necessary,  doesn't  it?" 
she  asked. 

"Education  in  the  true  values  of  things  and  in  un- 
selfishness. Look  at  this."  He  lifted  his  bandaged 
hand.  "It  was  caught  between  the  millstones.  So 
were  Nick  and  Streeter  and  Wagner  and  your  brother 
Jack  and  others.  So  was  our  beautiful  forest.  So  will 
be  the  nation  if  the  thing  isn't  stopped.  And  the 
change  must  be  in  the  hearts  of  men;  that's  the  only 
remedy.  For  the  paradoxical  feature  of  the  human 
spirit  is  that  it  withers  when  it  takes  from  another 
wrongfully  and  seems  to  have  most,  but  really  grows 
by  giving  to  others.  All  that  is  necessary  to  make  the 
world  well  is  for  men  to  be  kind  and  just." 

As  he  stopped  speaking  there  came  from  the  Hedley 
Lumber  Company's  sawmill  a  loud  blowing  of  the 
whistle,  dying  at  the  end.  Five  o'clock.  Work  was 
done.  The  day  was  over. 

Frances  dropped  her  hand  on  Cryder's  arm,  saying, 
"Listen!"  Thus  they  sat,  with  eyes  lifted  to  the 
mountain  across  the  river,  listening. 

A  few  seconds  of  time  passed. 

Then  the  echo  was  suddenly  hurled  back  in  a  long- 
drawn,  thunderous  shout.  It  was  like  a  voice,  a  living 
and  portentous  voice  that  travelled  over  the  stream  and 
over  the  listeners  on  the  rock,  over  the  town,  over  the 
ranches,  over  the  hills,  and  over  all  the  broad  land 
beyond  to  the  teeming  millions  of  men  everywhere.  .  .  . 


388  CRYDER 

A  voice  that  acclaimed  the  radiance  of  valley  and 
plain,  the  dignity  of  field  and  forest,  the  inviolability  of 
rivers,  the  might  of  tides  and  seasons,  the  fullness  of  the 
earth,  the  grandeur  of  the  hills  everlasting.  .  .  . 

A  voice  invoking  nobility  in  life  and  extolling  the 
glory  of  the  world. 

THE    END 


A     000  036  203     8 


